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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883897">In Living Waters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyheadHarpsichord/pseuds/HolyheadHarpsichord'>HolyheadHarpsichord</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Explicit Language, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Domestic Violence, Past Underage Sex, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:34:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyheadHarpsichord/pseuds/HolyheadHarpsichord</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is still coping with the repercussions of the final battle. Draco is trying to conquer his own personal demons, and struggling to keep his head above water. A steamy encounter in Harry's kitchen makes them realize they have more in common than they would like to think.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>June, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep was a pursuit Harry had long since abandoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lay on the couch, his breathing striking up a rhythm that threatened to lull him out of consciousness, but every time his eyes started to drift shut something in his body jolted him awake. He would remember to check on something in the kitchen, or suddenly need to dig his Sneakoscope out of his old school trunk, or feel an inexplicable burst of energy and decide that exercise was precisely the kind of release that would cure him of his restlessness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, however, his thoughts of sleep were interrupted by a loud rapping on the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shot bolt upright, reaching instinctively for his glasses and wand, which were both resting on the roll top desk beside him in the study. Without really wondering who could be paying him a visit this early in the morning, he stepped hesitantly into the entryway, trying to see if he could discern the figure at the door by the silhouette in the window. The knock came again, harder this time. He knew it couldn't have been Hermione, as she was on holiday with her parents in Greece. Ron, Ginny, or anyone else from the Auror department would surely have written to him or tried to contact him via floo powder before showing up at his house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind flashed to a vision of him opening the door to face Voldemort, and finally meeting his end when he was least expecting it. He gripped the wand a little tighter, reaching for the doorknob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The figure in front of him was probably the last person he would have guessed would show up on his front doorstep. Draco Malfoy, all six foot 2 inches of him, was standing with his black coat pulled up to his chin and the circles under his eyes looking almost worse than Harry had ever seen them. He had the look of a corpse who was being possessed by some, weak, lifelike spirit that had not learned to play a very convincing human. His grey eyes were glossy and lifeless, like he, too, had not slept well at all since the battle. He looked, if at all possible, worse than Harry felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing here?" The words tumbled out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them. He and Draco hadn't parted on the best of terms, but he immediately regretted his defensiveness when he saw the look on Malfoy's face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Granger didn't tell you I was coming?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, why would she-" Harry stopped, remembering the letter she had left for him which was still on the kitchen table, unopened. She had told him to "think carefully about it, and let her know what he decided", whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. "No." He said, realizing that he had answered the door without a shirt, expecting really anyone but Draco Malfoy to be calling. He crossed his arms over his chest hastily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right then," Malfoy said quietly, his eyebrows raised slightly. He brought his eyes back down to his shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's this about?" Harry began, stopping him from turning around and heading back to wherever it was he came from. "And how do you know where I live?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sniffed audibly and shifted his feet, still looking down at the ground. Harry wondered if his lack of clothing was making Draco feel uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Granger," he replied. "She set this up, said it would be a good idea for me to come get the wand from you in person."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It dawned on Harry suddenly, and he was surprised he hadn't thought of this before. The Hawthorne wand. The one that had killed Voldemort. Of course Draco would be wanting it back, now that the dark lord was gone and Draco was no longer indebted to a lifetime in his service. He hadn't considered the possibility that Draco might be paying him a visit until this very moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why don't you come inside?" He said, mostly wanting to get out of the chill morning air so his nipples would stop being so visibly hard. "You look like you could use a drink."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taller boy's brow furrowed, although Harry noticed a hint of amusement in his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's ten in the morning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry let out a dramatic sigh, and rolled his eyes instinctively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, then, I’ll have a drink and you can just stand here on my doorstep while I find your wand. Mind you, it might take me the whole afternoon. I wasn’t prepared for this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you haven’t talked to Granger?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t. Come inside, it’s fucking cold.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco obliged, following Harry into the entryway and shutting the door behind him. Harry caught a whiff of his cologne as he stepped into the house, for some reason finding the scent vaguely familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Charming place you've got here, Potter," Draco said with a bit of the drawl that Harry remembered from their school days. He ran a long, pointed finger along the banister leading up to the staircase, inspecting the layer of dust on his hand after doing so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well not all of us can live in haunted mansions half the size of Wiltshire," Harry replied, bringing his hand up to ruffle through his messy black hair. Malfoy opened his mouth as though he had a retort to Harry's comment, but something like an invisible cloud passed over him, and he shut it again. He took off his coat and hung it on the banister in the entryway, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves neatly and running a hand along the fade of his own hair, which was as tidy and freshly trimmed as Harry's was unruly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling suddenly very aware of his bare chest, Harry grabbed a shirt out of his dresser in the study and slipped it over his torso as Draco followed him into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you often begin drinking before most people are awake?" Draco asked, still looking around at the furnishings and decor that adorned the house. Harry supposed it didn't look that different from what Draco must be used to — the old wizarding family artifacts and symbols decorating the hallways, the remnants of dark magic still lingering in the corners of the house, despite Sirius' efforts to remove all traces of his family from this place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"These days, yes," Harry responded, cracking open an aged bottle of firewhiskey that Sirius had left in the pantry, and pouring them each a glass. Before he could cast a chilling charm on the whiskey, Draco had already picked his drink up and tossed it back in two, short pulls. Harry raised his eyebrows slightly, the corners of his mouth upturned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it would seem that you're in no place to be criticizing my drinking habits," Harry remarked, smirking. He sipped at his own glass. "Not that I'm complaining — None of the usual lot will drink with me. Something about 'not enabling certain destructive behaviors'. Because Hermione thinks I have a drinking problem. Which, even if I do, is none of her business." Draco nodded in recognition at Hermione's name, and Harry had to press him on the issue, merely out of curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How long have you two been... talking?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're not talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then, why did she send you here? Why couldn’t I have just owled your wand over to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stared for a moment at the bottom of his glass. Harry imagined he was contemplating whether or not it was acceptable for him to fill it up again so he could stomach the conversation the two of them were about to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She wrote to me a couple weeks ago, after...The end of term."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes met for a moment, both of them understanding that the subtext for “end of term” was the Battle of Hogwarts, in which they were both fighting on different sides. Draco brought his eyes back down to his glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took a deep breath, clearly not comfortable with people prying him for information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She just thought you and I should talk in person.” Draco, clearly realizing the two of them were past the point of exchanging social pleasantries, set down his glass on the counter and refilled it himself. He lifted it to his lips, this time savoring the taste of the whiskey instead of inhaling it in one breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What would we have to talk about?" Harry was getting more irritated with Hermione by the second. What was she playing at, inviting someone else into his home, facilitating an armistice between two people who wanted nothing to do with each other?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, we can start with my wand," Draco said, sipping his firewhiskey and leaning himself against the counter in the kitchen. Two faint, pink spots had appeared on his cheeks. He looked more relaxed than he had when he came in, and was taking on the same haughty demeanor again that Harry had always associated with him back at school. “You do still have it, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, sorry...One moment." Harry placed his whiskey down on the counter next to Draco, straightening his glasses and excusing himself from the room. To his surprise, Malfoy did not interpret this as a mark of dismissal, but as an invitation to follow him into the hallway. Draco picked up Harry's glass and carried both it and his own as he trailed Harry into the study, where all of Harry's possessions were spread out haphazardly on almost every surface of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Christ, Potter. You live like a hermit." Draco sipped his whiskey from the doorway, his eyebrow arched as he watched Harry try to dig through books, rolls of parchment and loose potion ingredients strewn across the floor. "Didn't you inherit a house elf with this place?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I don’t usually have visitors.” Harry mumbled, kneeling down to open his school trunk and rummaging through its contents for a moment before drawing out his own wand to summon Draco's. "I’ve asked Kreacher to stay at Hogwarts, and Hermione has finally gotten off my back about the house elf liberation front. It's well worth it, if you ask me. Besides," he grunted, finally withdrawing the Hawthorne wand from the crevices of his school trunk. "It's nearly impossible to have a wank when he's just around the corner, mumbling about Sirius' mum and bursting into tears every half hour." Harry paused, noting after the fact that this was the kind of joke he would usually make in the presence of Ron, and not necessarily to the man who had tormented and bullied him relentlessly for most of his adolescence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The wand," Draco began, turning slightly pink, but otherwise ignoring Harry's comment about Kreacher. "Will it… will it work for me like it did before?" Harry got up and walked over to the entryway, taking his own whiskey glass from Draco, and handing over the wand. He noticed Draco’s expression change as he ran his fingers over the intricately carved wood, a trace of a smile flitting across his face. It was as though he were being reunited with an old friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It should," Harry said, staring into his glass. "I think I relinquished ownership when I chose my own wand. I haven't used it since, but you should be the rightful owner again." He wondered if he should tell Draco about the kinship he had with this wand, how it really did seem to work for him almost as effectively as his own. Did that mean this wand played to their individual strengths, or did they have some of these strengths in common?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco cleared his throat, finally looking up into Harry's face. His eyes didn't seem as cold as Harry had always remembered them being, and despite his thinner frame and the faint, dark blonde stubble lining his jaw, Harry thought him strangely handsome. He supposed he had always thought that, but the fact that he was constantly trying to get under people’s skin had always caused Harry to discount that variable. Except… There was a time towards the end of fifth year when Harry had thought about him quite a lot. Slowly, a memory that Harry hadn't recalled in years began to resurface, and Harry had to actively fight to suppress it as he looked at Draco over his firewhiskey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you really… you really killed him with this? With my wand?" Draco asked, staring at the object in his hand as though it had some profound, new power to it. Harry hadn't given this matter a great deal of thought. Yes, Voldemort’s curse had rebounded, but it had done so when he was using Draco's wand to defend himself. Perhaps that was why Hermione had wanted the two of them to speak about this matter. She might have thought Harry harbored some sentimental attachment to the item that avenged the murder of his parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Er… yeah. I suppose I did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stared at the wand for a moment, visibly contemplating the amount of power this small, wooden object had been able to produce. Instead of mulling over the fact for too long, however, he drained the remainder of the firewhiskey left in his glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Easy with that, Malfoy… it's probably older than your father."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy sputtered halfway through the drink. "Is that what you're spending your galleons on these days? Whiskey? God forbid you hire a maid to tidy this place up..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I like my privacy." Harry shrugged, walking back into the kitchen to lead Malfoy away from the mess in his study. "And Sirius left loads of stuff in the cabinets. I don't know where he got all of it, but there's enough to open my own pub, probably."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know that anyone would set foot in a pub this revolting."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry let out a loud chuckle at this, which seemed to catch Malfoy a bit off guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I haven't had any time to fix it up yet! This place will be a regular Hog's Head come September."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't think of a worse spot to model your business after." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rare, genuine smile spread across Malfoy's face, and Harry couldn't help but stare at the way it transformed his features. Maybe the firewhiskey was going straight to his head, but there was something captivating about the way that Draco was casually leaning against the wall, making conversation with him like they were old friends, like Draco wasn’t the heartless bully who had relentlessly tormented Harry and his friends back in school. Maybe Draco had never really been the person that Harry had made him out to be, or maybe the war had just changed some aspects of his personality. Regardless, Harry had to admit it was nice being around someone who wasn't constantly fussing over him, or trying to fix some part of him that needed time to heal on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco finished what was left in his whiskey glass and then took a deep breath, as though he were gearing up for an important conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, Potter, the wand isn't the only reason I'm here." He brought his eyes back down to the floor, averting Harry's gaze once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about... that night, in the room of requirement." Harry's memory jogged, and he recalled where he had smelled Malfoy's cologne before. He thought of Draco gripping his waist for dear life as they escaped the fiendfyre in the room of requirement on a broomstick. Harry had found Draco’s choice of applying cologne a bit odd given the circumstances, which is why it remained in his memory now. Draco now looked the most uncomfortable Harry had ever seen him, and Harry had to admit it was a welcome change from his usual, casual arrogance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What you did -- Saving my life in there -- You didn’t have to do anything, but I’m grateful for your actions nonetheless, and if I wasn’t -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I appreciate the sentiment, Malfoy, but don't thank me for saving your arse," Harry said, cutting Draco off. "I wasn't about to watch you die in there. Not because of some bloody mistake your friend made."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked up at him briefly, then brought his eyes back down to his firewhiskey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I owe you a debt," He said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry remembered thinking about this matter right after he had rescued Draco from the flames, and had considered the possibility of Draco being indebted to him as Pettigrew had been when Harry had spared his life. They clearly both knew of the power that such a magical bond could create between them, but Harry didn’t feel anything like he had when he had chosen not to take the life of his father’s old friend. He and Malfoy were both trapped in the room together as the flames were surrounding them on all sides, and saving Malfoy's skin felt just as natural as trying to save his own. Malfoy was a desperate boy in a perilous situation who was trying to escape death, just as Harry had been. Besides, any debt that Malfoy might have owed Harry surely would have been repaid in the next couple of hours of that night when his own life was spared for the sake of Draco’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you talked to Hermione about that?" Harry asked him, opening up the cabinet in the kitchen and digging for another bottle of firewhiskey. "About a life debt?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy took a seat at the kitchen table, running his finger lazily across the rim of his empty glass. "She said I should speak with you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know if you knew this," Harry began, not really sure what was bringing him to say this, but feeling like the words would help Draco understand what he, Ron, and Hermione had determined about the subject. "Your mother, in the forest when Voldemort tried to kill me, she told him I was dead. She knew the only way she would be able to see you again is if Voldemort had won. She knew I was alive, but she risked her own life to save mine. All for your sake."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was looking into Harry's eyes, and Harry noticed that they weren't all grey; there were hints of green towards the middle of his pupils. He was just now realizing that they suited him nicely. Draco cleared his throat suddenly, and brought his eyes back down to the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wish she had told me that in her letter, it would have saved me a visit to your terrible pub."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughed, pulling a fresh bottle of whiskey out from the cupboard and unlocking the wire cage around the opening. Instead of opening like the other bottles, however, this one let out a shrieking noise and exploded, sending shards of glass skidding across the kitchen, and several slivers into Harry's hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swore loudly, quickly throwing the bottle in the sink and examining his hand. To his surprise, Draco, who had stood up instantly when the bottle had shattered, was now at his side, wand outstretched. "It must have been a prank bottle Fred and George planted," Harry explained, feeling the familiar wrench of pain in his gut when he spoke Fred’s name, and at the same time trying to avoid looking at his hand, which had several bits of glass lodged in it and was leaking blood freely onto the floor. "Fuck— Go see if you can reach Hermione by floo powder, her healing spells are really excellent— "</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could finish speaking, however, Draco was holding the Hawthorne wand over his affliction, muttering some of the healing incantations that Hermione often employed, but also several spells that Harry had never heard before. He winced as the shards dislodged themselves from his hand, and the wounds healed instantly, the blood and spilled firewhiskey disappearing from his trousers and the floor beneath them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Merlin," Harry breathed, his hand as good as new and an incredulous expression on his face. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy secured his wand back in his pocket, casting his gaze to the sink to stare at the exploded remains of the bottle. "I've always wanted to be a healer. I studied for it on my own when we were in school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're good. You're really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father would never hear of it. Besides, nobody would let a death eater heal them anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry met his eyes again, and saw something he would have never looked for in Malfoy - Resentment towards his father, and the choices Draco had made because of him. Harry had always suspected that Draco would never have voluntarily tattooed a Dark Mark on his arm and joined the ranks of his father’s friends if he had any choice in the matter, however he didn’t think he had ever put himself in Draco’s shoes and thought about the war from his perspective before now. He had been a boy, just like Harry, whose parents had dragged him into their side of the battle, forcing him to be exactly the kind of son Lucius would be proud of, but when Harry had been younger, he had always thought that was what Draco had wanted as well. Draco speaking of his father in this way was making him seem more human than he ever had before. It was as though a curtain were being pulled away, revealing an entirely unexpected character on the other side, a man who was driven, intelligent, humorous, and (Harry didn’t quite know what this particular thought was doing in his head) honestly rather sexy. He couldn't help but wonder if things had not gone so wrong between them at school, maybe their relationship would have been completely different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy's eyes flitted down to Harry's lips, and Harry felt a strange, tingling sensation in his body that had usually been reserved for his days spent with Ginny exploring the secret corridors of the castle. He was close enough that he could see every detail on Malfoy's face, and he could only guess what the expression Draco wore could mean. His breath hitched slightly, and it was like a wave of cool air had suddenly passed over him; his bare skin was forming goosebumps up and down his arms. Unbidden, the old, suppressed memory of Blaise and Draco in the Quidditch Locker Room reemerged in his head. This time, however, Harry imagined himself in Blaise's place, on his knees in front of the tall, pale boy as Draco slowly thrust into his mouth, pulling his hair at the roots and moaning his name...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, out of nowhere, it was like a switch had been turned off, and the atmosphere in the room completely shifted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck you, Potter," Draco spat, his eyes narrowing into slits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, What?" Harry stuttered, his head still spinning from the thoughts that were wandering through it seconds ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know what you're doing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you talking about?" He thought for a horrifying moment that maybe Draco had been using legilimency to read his mind, but he dismissed this thought almost immediately. He would have known if someone was trying to get into his head; he could always feel it when Snape was practicing this in their occlumency sessions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s face had gone even more pale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I should have seen this coming. You don’t know me, you can’t just take advantage of me because you have nothing better going on. You’re just like the rest of them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," Harry spoke, incredulous. “I know I don’t — What do you mean - ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You knew! You knew about me and Blaise, we fucking saw you for christ's sake. You and Granger planned this after you saw the papers, it’s all just some elaborate ploy to humiliate me..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, I swear I have no idea what you're on about," Harry answered honestly, his mind reeling from what Draco was accusing him of. "If this is about you being gay-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco slammed his fist on the counter top, making Harry flinch. He swore loudly, running his hand instinctively over his slicked back hair, trying to regain his composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not." He said in a quieter voice, noticing the shocked expression on Harry’s face at his outburst. He exhaled slowly through flared nostrils. "I'm not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry slouched against the counter, moving his hands into his pockets and trying to avoid eye contact to alleviate some of the discomfort in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, then,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause that felt like an eternity in which both Harry and Draco stared straight ahead of them at the wall in the kitchen, trying to concentrate on the patterns of the floral arrangements depicted on the wallpaper to distract themselves from the situation at hand. Harry's mind was racing; he was trying to wrap his head around the thoughts that were now pouring in like tidal waves, trying to find some justification for why he was suddenly wanting to kiss Malfoy. He had always known he wasn’t just attracted to girls, but had never actually acted upon the feelings he had about boys he had fancied before. He and Ginny had hardly spoken since the end of term, he hadn't had any kind of proper sex since 6th year, and he was probably just feeling lonely and stir crazy. To make matters worse, he couldn't help but acknowledge the excruciating sexual tension between himself and Draco, the chemistry that had probably been lying dormant for quite some time and was just waiting to be tapped into. He continued to stare straight forward, trying to suppress what thoughts that he was able to, so as to make the remainder of this meeting as painless as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After several long moments, Draco stood up a little straighter, exhaling deeply and adjusting the sleeves on his shirt once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, then I guess I should be going -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t know what had made him do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Draco had finished his sentence, Harry caught his wrist with the dexterity of a skilled Quidditch player and pulled him into Harry's body, their lips crashing into each other. There was a brief, terrifying moment where all Harry could think about was the gravity of what he had just done, but his mind was soon unable to focus on anything except how fantastic it felt to have Malfoy's mouth pressed against his own. The smell of Malfoy's cologne mingled with the taste of his lips, a musky yet uniquely fresh scent that was more intoxicating than Harry could have imagined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Harry's surprise, Malfoy responded ardently to his advance, as though he had been anticipating that Harry would reach for him all along. He brought his hands into Harry's untidy hair, deepening the kiss and pinning Harry against the counter so he could instantly feel Draco's stiffness against his own. Harry's mind soared with elation, his body responding in turn, lust staking its claim on the remainder of his willpower. They became practically ravenous, urgency seeping out with each gasping breath as the two caressed each other, kissing wildly. Harry moaned as Draco reached down to massage his cock through his trousers, and Draco bit down on Harry's bottom lip so hard that he nearly drew blood. Draco kept kissing Harry, one hand now exploring the muscles that Harry had built from Quidditch and Auror training under his shirt, and Harry responded by kissing him harder and pushing Draco's lithe body against the wall so that Harry had complete control over him. He felt drunk, taking in all of the sensations and savoring the taste of Draco's mouth on his own. His hand fumbled for the clasp on Draco's belt, not entirely sure what he was about to do, but knowing that he wanted as little clothing as possible between the two of them. Draco let out a soft moan as Harry trailed his tongue down to Draco's neck, pressing a couple of wet, rough kisses into the pale skin he uncovered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco broke away from him suddenly, his pupils the size of small moons, his gaze darting back and forth from Harry's mouth and his bespectacled, green eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, we can't do this," he said quietly, staggering slightly back to the counter and composing himself as best as he could. "I shouldn’t have come here.” He fastened the bit of his belt that Harry had managed to unlatch, tucking his shirt back into his dress pants. “You can’t tell anyone about this, Potter. It never happened. God, I shouldn’t have come,” he repeated, running his hands through his hair to straighten it once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry felt as though he had quickly come up from underwater, and struggled to wrap his mind around what Malfoy was now saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why? What do you mean, was it something I did?" He panted, his chest still heaving and his pants still uncomfortably restrictive below his waistband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We can't do this," Draco repeated, his grey eyes meeting Harry’s again. There was both desperation and sadness in them so great that Harry wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. He wanted more than anything for Draco to just tell him what was going on. "I’m sorry Potter, I... I just can't. I have to go." Malfoy turned on his heel and began to make his way back into the hallway, his shoes clicking on the polished wood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry started after him, opening his mouth to protest, but as soon as he had followed Malfoy into the hallway, there was a loud cracking noise letting him know the other man had disapparated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stood in the entryway, his hand still stinging from the glass that had sliced through it just a couple of minutes ago. Malfoy had left without even taking his coat with him; the dark cloak was still hanging on the bannister in the entryway. He stared at the closed door ahead of him, trying to take deep steady breaths, wondering what he could have done wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had just been voraciously, passionately kissing Draco Malfoy, like he hadn't kissed anyone else in his entire life. He didn't know what had brought it out of him, or how long he had been wanting to do that, or if it had really even happened... All he knew for sure was that he didn’t care how confusing it was, he wanted more. He felt a lump in his throat, a longing to figure out what he should do next, but he had no idea where to begin understanding any of this. He stared at the door for several more, disbelieving minutes, and then walked back into his kitchen slowly, as though stumbling through a dream. The two glasses of firewhiskey sat on his kitchen table, next to the note addressed to him from Hermione. He picked it up quickly, realizing that Malfoy must have been referring to this letter when he mentioned his correspondence with Hermione earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The letter was lighter than any of the other ones she had sent him over the last month, which was surprising as he had assumed she had millions of stories to tell him about the ancient temples they had visited, or detailed descriptions of the magical artifacts in museums she had seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was only one page of parchment upon which he recognized Hermione's tidy scrawl. He skimmed through it quickly, ignoring the exchange of pleasantries and the "hope that he was sleeping better", and fixated on the section where he saw Malfoy's name.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm not sure if you've been paying attention, but he's been through a great deal in the last few weeks. His father just got a life sentence in Azkaban, and his mother had to be admitted into St. Mungo's with a spell damage related heart condition. He’s been forced out of his home so the ministry can investigate the Manor in light of Mr. Malfoy’s sentencing. On top of all of that, Witch Weekly published an article last month about Draco's homosexual affair with an American professor. We all know that magazine is a load of rubbish, but I think when that issue came out Malfoy lost the remainder of the support he had from his family and the community he grew up in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm not saying all of this so that you'll feel sorry for him, and I'm not even necessarily saying you should speak with him face to face. I'm just asking if you'll consider reaching out, because as much as I hate to admit it, I think you both have a lot in common.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I've been writing to him since I read about his parents in the prophet, and I've told him I think it would be a good idea for you to meet. I believe his main concern is whether or not he owes you a life debt, which I know we discussed briefly after the war. He’s also wanting his old wand back, if you're able to dig that out of your school belongings. Please let me know as soon as you've received this, as I've told him you'd be available this week for him to collect it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I've included his address below, in case you're wanting to write to him. Please let me know how you're doing, and give Ron and everyone else my love."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Hermione</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The address that was scrawled at the bottom of the page was a room in the Leaky Cauldron, which must be where Draco was staying while his mother was in St. Mungo's. Harry set the letter down on the table. If anything, Hermione had just given him even more to think about, and made the entire situation with Malfoy even more confusing. Why hadn't he mentioned anything about his family? Harry felt a sinking feeling of guilt creep over him, and he wished more than anything that he could have a chance to take back the last half hour, or at least speak to Draco about any of this. Had Malfoy really just thought that he owed Harry a life debt, and come here in a meager attempt to arrange repayment? Or was there another reason he had followed Hermione's advice and wound up on Harry's doorstep, despite everything they had been through in their years at Hogwarts?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wandered automatically back into the study, which he had found was the room he had the least trouble sleeping in. He had tried sleeping in Sirius's old bedroom, still adorned with the Gryffindor banners and pictures of scantily clad muggle girls pinned up all over the walls, but that just brought unwanted memories and even more guilt about everything that had happened during the war. He wished, more than anything, that he had someone he could talk about these things with, if only to get it off his chest. Someone who would listen quietly and offer helpful, well-guided advice without telling Harry they felt sorry for him. Then again, he didn't think he would tell another living soul what had just happened between him and Malfoy. He wasn't sure he could even fully reconcile that with himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laid back down on the couch in the room, staring at the ceiling and trying to get his mind off things. His eyes were finally beginning to drift shut, merely out of exhaustion, but in the back of his mind he couldn't stop thinking about why Malfoy had left when he did, or what he must be doing now. Did he plan for things to happen the way they did? Had he been wondering what that kiss would have been like since their 5th year, as Harry had?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light rain began to beat against the windows outside, and the soothing rhythm of it was finally enough to lull Harry into a quiet, dreamless sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>June, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco apparated onto a dark, empty corner of the street outside the Leaky Cauldron, and immediately realized that something was wrong. An aching, stinging sensation was spreading down his arm, the cloth of his sleeve becoming damp with blood. He ducked under the awning of an empty storefront, stumbling back against the door as a sudden wave of pain washed over him. Wincing and nearly doubled over, he retrieved his wand from his pocket, quickly ripping off his shirt and examining the wound. It was deep, much deeper than he had treated on himself before. He took a deep breath and began to administer some of the charms he had used just moments ago in Potter's house, trying not to think of the look of amazement on Harry’s face when Draco removed the glass shards from his hand with magic. Healing was something he knew, something he had been practicing for years. There was something comforting about the knowledge that no matter what happened, no matter how badly Draco had been physically injured, he at least had this ability to carry around with him. It made him feel significantly less vulnerable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sank down to the pavement and ground his teeth together to stop himself from crying out as his vision started to blur. With stars swimming in front of his eyes, he thought back to the last time he could remember being in this amount of pain, when he had come home from Bennett’s flat well past midnight to find his father waiting up for him with a copy of the dreaded tabloid publication that had somehow found its way into the manor. His mother had still been at home; right after the war they had hired a healer to stay with her full-time and supervise her condition as she recovered. Lucius would attend what he would learn was his final trial at the ministry the next morning. The man had been drinking heavily, his long blonde hair stringy and unkempt as it had often looked this past year, and his eyes were glazed over, out of focus. Draco had known instantly that it had been a mistake to come home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been caught only once before this, when Zabini’s parents had found both their son and Draco in their lake house when presumably everyone had been away on holiday over Easter break. Lucius had been more humiliated than angry when he found out, but as only two, pure blooded wizarding families were involved, it was an easy enough incident to brush under the rug. Draco could tell immediately that this time was going to be different. The atmosphere in the room was both tense and unbearably silent, and Draco had been filled with an overwhelming sense of dread as he realized what was coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucius hurled the magazine at his son when he walked into the room, upsetting the glass of whiskey that had been resting on the table. Draco had offered no explanation; he had not seen what had been published yet himself, although he felt his heart physically sink in his chest when he saw his own face next to Bennett’s on the cover. He had been quiet, swallowing the embarrassment and betrayal that rose like bile in his throat, and had not defended himself when his father began delivering blow after blow to his face, his stomach, his chest, then kicking him again and again until Draco was coughing blood onto the stone floor of the room. He braced himself for each impact, trying as hard as he could not to whimper as the final kick landed in his ribs and he was sure he felt something crack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco never argued with his father when he was in one of these moods. He always kept as silent and composed as possible and waited for it to be over, making sure his mother never overheard what was happening, as he had always been quite sure it would break her. Lucius reserved this particular method of abuse only for his son, and made sure to remind Draco at every opportunity that Narcissa would be devastated if she learned of his unnatural, disgusting habit of getting men into bed with him, of the fact that they would never have an heir to carry on the family line unless Lucius was able to stamp out this vile tendency of Draco’s while he was still young. All he was able to do, however, was to break down his son’s will to fight back, to make Draco feel the same revulsion, the same hatred for himself that his father harbored towards him. Lucius couldn’t change who Draco was in love with any more than he could change the weather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night in particular, Draco went to his bathroom upstairs and treated his own wounds, using the healing herbs and potions in his school trunk and his mother’s wand for some of the surface level injuries. He had to fish out a bottle of Skelegrow from his belongings, taking a couple swigs and letting an entirely new painful sensation flood through his body as his bones repaired themselves throughout the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, only a little more than a month later, he was having to heal the same bones all over again from a botched disapparation. Draco winced as his skin began to weave itself back together in front of his eyes, the pain making him tremble as he gripped his wand, trying his best to concentrate on repairing the wound. He wouldn't be able to fix this completely on his own; he would need to pick up some potion ingredients in Diagon Alley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple excruciating minutes, Draco was able to catch his breath, opening his eyes to look at the streets around him. It had begun to rain outside. Muggles were walking back and forth quickly, clutching umbrellas and scampering through the streets like children, trying to get inside before they had become completely soaked to the bone. Draco stood up slowly, picking his black shirt up from the ground beside him and muttering a quick cleaning spell to rid it of the blood he had soaked it in. He didn't mind the rain. It was cleansing, it would rid him of the shame he felt from everything that had happened today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have known better than to let himself be alone in a room with Potter, and he should have thought twice about disapparating right after breaking off a passionate kiss with him. He should have arranged another way to get his wand back, or maybe even asked Granger if she could help get it for him. She probably would have been able to tell him if he owed Harry a life debt as well, or at least provide some of the information he was missing about his mother. At the same time, however, Potter had kissed him, not the other way around. He couldn't forget the look on Harry’s face when he had decided to do so, those beautiful, green eyes fixed with determination, his jaw clenched, and his body pulsing with desire. All of the blood was leaving Draco’s head again just thinking about it. He'd been picturing the scene that had just taken place in his mind for at least five years, ever since he realized that his feelings of jealousy for Potter were really less about envy and more about the angst-ridden infatuation he had felt towards the boy, which had only grown each year that they had known each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter was everything that he had always wanted; he was marvelously handsome, charismatic without even trying, one of the bravest people his age that he had known, and, as it turned out, an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>fantastic</span>
  </em>
  <span> kisser. If it hadn’t been for the overwhelming sense of guilt that was associated with the kiss and his current relationship with the very man who had gotten him into the mess with his father, he would have stayed. He would have stayed and kissed Harry until his lips were raw, until he couldn’t stand any longer, until the world ended and the universe collapsed in on itself. But in doing so, he was betraying someone who had done so much for him already, who had saved his life countless times in the last two years, and who had been trying to reach Draco nonstop since his father had beat the living daylights out of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head violently to ward off the regret and frustration he was feeling, buttoning up his shirt now that his arm was temporarily healed. He realized as he fastened the buttons that he had left his coat at Potter’s house, and now didn’t have any hope of retrieving it. He would die of embarrassment if he had to repeat this particular errand once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain had begun to pick up, and by the time he set foot on the familiar cobblestone of Diagon Alley, his hair was completely drenched and sending drops of water down his neck and into his muddled shirt. He walked down the alley, past the boarded up shops and vacant buildings that had become all too common since the war, and stopped outside the apothecary, casting a quick drying spell to make himself presentable. Inside, it smelled as it always did, of dirt and sulphur and disgusting ingredients Draco didn't want to identify. He wrinkled his nose slightly, but otherwise ignored the familiar stench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with bottles, vials, and flasks, and there were barrels all around the store holding spare ingredients, herbs, and fungi. The shopkeeper hollered from the back of the store to "let him know if you needed help finding something", and Draco began searching through the boxes and barrels of ingredients for some dittany he could use for his shoulder. He had finally found the section of boxes labeled "healing herbs" when someone cleared their throat rather loudly over his shoulder. Draco turned around, a handful of the magical herb grasped in his fingers, and found the large, gruff looking, and bearded shopkeeper, who didn't at all look pleased to have a customer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't serve your lot here," he said in a slow, growling voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco blinked several times, sure that he had misheard the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry?" He clenched his wand in his back pocket, not sure he would be needing it, but having it ready just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shopkeeper remained frowning, pointing his finger at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You heard me. We don't sell to death eaters. Get the hell out of my shop." Draco glanced down at his shirt, seeing that his left forearm had been exposed, something he normally tried very carefully to keep hidden. He had forgotten all about it in the buzz of adrenaline ensuing his splinching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two years ago, or even last summer, Draco would have put up a fight worthy of an angry Hippogriff if someone had treated him as such. Now, however, his pride had been so irreconcilably damaged by everything that had happened that he couldn't muster the energy to do anything but adjust the buttons on his sleeve, toss the dittany into its container with a bit of a flourish, and deliver the shopkeeper a pointed glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll regret this," he said as he left the shop, not really meaning anything by it, but just wanting to seem as though he had some kind of upper hand in the situation. He heard the burly shopkeeper shout something along the lines of "rot in hell" as the door slammed behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Splendid. He would have to make do with something else. He thought about trying out one of the potion shops in Knockturn Alley, but last time he was there, the owner had forced him to take home a mysterious vial containing a sapphire blue liquid that had just hit the market, urging him to try it out and let him know if he would be interested in selling some. Apparently it induced a "euphoric state unlike anything he would ever experience." He knew a trap when he saw one, and didn't want to be forced into the role of a black market peddlar unless it was absolutely necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding that his home remedy option list was exhausted for the time being, he returned to the Leaky Cauldron, bounding up the creaking stairs to his room once he was finally out of the rain, and fastening each of the three spell-proof locks he had purchased once he had closed the door. The silence that greeted him in the room was almost deafening. The pub was empty downstairs, and there weren't any other long-term tenants that Draco knew of who were renting out rooms upstairs. Draco took a great, heaving breath, glancing briefly at himself in the mirror above the vanity. The circles under his eyes looked worse than they had in weeks. The rain had ruined the sleek, well-kept look of his hair; it was no longer holding the spell he had placed on it before arriving at Potter’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter. Harry fucking Potter. He bit his lip, trying to repress the thoughts of Harry's casual, lopsided smile, the effortless laugh that Draco had accidently coaxed out of him a couple times, the look in his eyes right before he kissed Draco. He had wanted Harry so badly for almost all of his life, just not like this. Not when his whole world was in a state of flux, when the foundations of his entire existence were crumbling in front of his eyes. Everything was falling apart. His family, his relationships, his reputation... It was all too much for him to handle. In an overwhelming surge of rage he punched the mirror above the vanity as hard as his strength would allow him to. Shattered glass rained down on the dresser and the books he had stacked on the floor. His fist was stinging with pain, but he ignored it, hurling the rest of his possessions off of the desk and aiming a hard kick at the bedpost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to scream. He wanted to make it all go away; he wanted to wake up and have this all be a terrible, fleeting dream that would leave a bitter taste in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached in the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieved a bottle of brandy he had procured from the bar downstairs, taking several swigs until he couldn't feel the pain caused by any of the injuries he had sustained today. He drank until he couldn't feel the pain of anything else in his life, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nearly dusk when he left the Leaky Cauldron again. The rain had finally subsided, the air replaced with a thick fog that fell like a billowing cloak over the streets of London. Draco had done his best to heal his minor cuts and bruises from the day. He was freshly showered, shaved, and had fixed his hair so that it was cooly smoothed back, once more. He had to admit that dressing as though he still sauntered around a mansion and was doted upon by house elves helped him walk a little taller down the street, and feel a little more like his old self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strode up to the front of the abandoned department store that concealed the entrance to St. Mungo's Hospital, heading up the staircase to the fourth floor. When he got to the small reception area for the floor, however, he stopped in his tracks, recognizing a familiar face seated in the wooden chairs of the waiting room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bennett was holding a bouquet of colorful flowers, and looked like he had just woken up from a nap when Draco had closed the door from the stairwell. He stood up slowly, placing the flowers on the chair he had been seated in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded, looking around him nervously for people that might have noticed the tall, handsome man waiting in a reception area for terminally ill patients that everyone knew included his mother. "How long have you been here? She didn't see you, did she?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bennett shook his head at this, pointing to the flowers he had brought in. "No. I thought you could bring these in for her, it might brighten up her room."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco ignored him, disregarding the kind gesture and the cadence of his American accent he had always found so irresistible. His mind was still racing from the shock of seeing Bennett here. They hadn’t spoken face to face since an explosive fight they had had the night of his father's indictment, in which Draco had admittedly projected some of the rage he felt towards his situation onto this man, who had been by his side through all of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you thought you could just march right into the hospital where my mother is being treated for a heart condition? Are you insane? Do you know what it would do to her if she saw you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bennett took a step back, looking rather hurt by Draco’s words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You weren't responding to my letters. I tried coming by earlier this morning to talk to you, but you weren't at the inn."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bennett, you can’t just—" Draco stopped himself mid-sentence, looking around the room to make sure no one could hear them. The witch at the reception desk had gotten up briefly, and there was no one else seated in the waiting area. It appeared as though they were alone, but Draco still knew better than to discuss these matters in a public area. He jerked his head towards the entrance to the stairwell, so that they could have this conversation somewhere a little more private. Bennett obliged, following him and closing the door to the 4th floor behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, the medical research position you were looking at, the one at Ilvermorny just opened up. I recommended you, I thought that you’d be- "</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”You shouldn’t have done that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, we talked about this. It’s what you always wanted to do, and through the university you won't have to worry about any of the financial aspects while you're earning the degree -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, I don't need your handouts, Ben."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wouldn’t be a handout. You would have to pass the entrance exam on your own, I'm hardly doing anything but pulling a few strings."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I never asked you to do any of that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older man let out a long sigh, moving in a little closer and lowering his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, I know it hasn't been easy, with everything going on. I can't imagine what any of that must be like, but I'm on your side, Draco. It would be better, in America. There wouldn't be any of this pressure... We could be together." He tried to place a hand on Draco's arm, but Draco moved it out of his grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I told you before - I can’t. I can’t just leave, it’s not as simple as that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bennett looked at him with those warm, chocolate coloured eyes and Draco couldn’t help wondering if he was still in love with him. Bennett was charming, intelligent, and had represented everything that Draco had wanted at a point in his life where nothing else made sense. He was considerably older than Draco, which had been part of the thrill when they had first started sleeping together the summer before his 6th year. He had let Draco stay in his flat in London when Draco couldn't bear to be in his own house. He had encouraged Draco's pursuit of being a healer, providing him with the academic resources and information he would need to continue in his education while he was in school. He had been the person that Draco could run to when he was feeling desperate, or horny, or lonely, or was just wanting an escape from reality for any amount of time. Yes, Draco had entertained the idea of leaving with Bennett when he finished his last semester teaching Wizarding Law in London. He had thought of starting all over in America, getting another chance to be the kind of person he had always wanted to be. He thought of settling down in a cozy New York apartment with Bennett and drinking tea with him every evening as he went over his lecture notes, and Draco studied for his medical exams. It was the kind of life that was too perfect for him to imagine himself living. There was nowhere in that world for the guilt of leaving his mother in an institution in London. Now, as crazy as it sounded in his head, a subconscious part of him didn’t want to be a continent away from Harry Potter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m sorry,” Draco said softly, trying to stop the memories of their relationship from affecting the decision that needed to be made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bennett narrowed his eyes slightly, moving aside the collar on Draco's shirt to glance at his neck. "What the hell is that?" He asked, pointing to a vaguely brown indentation that Harry's lips must have made on his neck earlier that morning. "Are you serious? You're already seeing someone?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked behind him, wary of anyone who may happen to overhear their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, Bennett, I can't do this right now. I need to go see her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did this even mean anything to you?" Bennett asked, desperation dripping from his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please -- I don't have time for this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he turned to leave, Bennet caught his forearm in a way that jolted Draco's memory back to Potter kissing him. He looked into Bennett's eyes again, imagining Harry's in their place, and realizing how incredibly unfair he was being to this man who had shared nearly two years of his life with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, please just answer me." He held Draco firmly by the crook of his arm, the pain and frustration evident in his voice. "I just need to know it wasn't a waste."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sighed, looking down to the ground and back up at him again. He was a broad, strong man with perfect bone structure and an impeccable waistline. He checked off all of the boxes that Draco was looking for physically, which was part of the reason he had pursued him in the first place. His demeanor, on the other hand, was soft and kind - he was as considerate and passionate as he was thoughtful. Draco didn't want a man this perfect to be squandered on someone like him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I meant it," he said, knowing that he at least owed Bennett the truth. "I did at the time. I just can't be what you want me to be."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his arm away from Bennett, disrupting the sleeve of his jacket in doing so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your wand," Bennett said, his eye catching the dark, carved wood tucked into Draco's jacket pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco had to stop himself from rolling his eyes in frustration. Of course something like this would happen to him today. He hadn't anticipated running into Bennett here, otherwise he would have changed it out with his mother's wand which she was allowing him to use since she had been in St. Mungo's. It didn't take long for the gears to start turning in Bennett's head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's Potter, isn't it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pleading expression on Bennett's face had faded, and was replaced by a stiff, clenched jaw. Draco noticed a vein pulse in his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you talking about?" He scoffed, trying to behave like he wasn't thinking of Harry's lust-ridden eyes, or his chiseled stomach, or his perfect arse that Draco had spent hours upon hours evaluating during Quidditch games and in between classes in the corridors at Hogwarts...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, it all makes sense." Bennett turned around, pinching his forehead as though nursing a headache. "You completely vanishing out of nowhere, avoiding me and lying to me and then showing up here with marks all over your neck -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't make this about you, Ben. I can't handle this right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just tell me I'm wrong, Draco."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a beat. Draco glanced around in the stairwell, feeling more trapped than he had in the past couple of weeks. He shouldn't have to justify what had happened at Potter's house to a jealous boyfriend when he was trying to visit his mother in the hospital. He was going through hell, and all Bennett seemed to care about was whatever notions he had about the monogamy of their relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've hardly been anywhere except here, the inn and the ministry in the last 4 weeks, and I've been more fucking miserable then I think you can even begin to understand, Bennett."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you slept with Potter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No! I never even- " Draco exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the professor to ensure that everything he was saying was kept private. "It wouldn't have even mattered if I did. You gave those photos to the press, I don't owe you anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"God dammit, Draco, would you stop going on about that? It was an accident, I've told you a thousand times, someone lifted them from my flat during the court proceedings, I don't know how many times you want me to apologize to you..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You knew better than to be showing them off in the first place."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why? Is it illegal for me to want to be with you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was standing so close to Draco's face that he could see each sunspot on his tanned, handsome face, the beginning of each dimple and crease which would slowly turn to wrinkles as the years began to stake their claim on his body. This would never have been a normal relationship, he had to remind himself. There was always a part of him that knew he couldn't be with someone nearly 10 years his superior before he had even graduated from school. Before he had even decided what he wanted to do with his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took a long, drawn out breath, closing his eyes briefly so he could shut out the look of pained resignation on Bennett's face. The stairwell was small and echoey and smelled like cleansing spells. When he opened his eyes again, Bennett was still waiting expectantly for any acknowledgment of what had been said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you for the flowers."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he turned to leave Bennett remained silent, clearly accepting this as his dismissal. Draco retrieved the flowers from their seat in the waiting room and strode past the witch at the reception desk into the hospital wing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls of the hospital, which were at one point quite cold and sterile, were covered with drawings that children had made for the influx of patients since the war had begun. Crayon scrawled families with owls and cats and house elves decorated the once white surface of the hallway, and the spaces in between were filled with colorful encouragements such as "get well soon!" and "feel better, mum!" The staff had done everything they could to make the walk to the spell damage ward a little less doleful, but despite their efforts the pictures served as a kind of melancholy relic in themselves. The families who had lost children or parents now had the gut wrenching, pictograph reminders of when hopes were high, of when the future may have diverged in a number of different ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a picture of his mother that the Bellamy child, a resident of the room down the hall, had drawn for her. Draco closed his eyes, trying to cleanse his mind of everything that had just happened so that he wouldn't be dragging his own problems into the room. His mother sat up in the bed when she heard the doorknob turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was very pale and nearly skeletal, her long blonde hair pouring down over the pillows stacked under her head, but her eyes still lit up when Draco entered the room. There were several weeks worth of cards and drawings pasted to the walls around the bed, reminding Draco how long she had really been here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, they're beautiful!" she exclaimed as he set the bouquet of lilies down on her bedside table, bending down to kiss her forehead. Her skin was burning to the touch, but he smiled as though he had not noticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She beamed at him when he kissed her head, which was really all that he had been hoping for to begin with. It had been a whirlwind of a month for her, with the sentencing of Lucius at the ministry, and the series of health complications that resulted from both the torture she had endured at the hands of Voldemort, and the stress of losing a husband to Azkaban. Draco hadn't even told her about the financial stress weighing down on him from the legal fees and medical expenses, or that the ministry had seized their home for investigation, and was forcing him to live in the Leaky Cauldron and pay for his room out of pocket until they finally relinquished the possession of the mansion back to him. He couldn't help but feel that they were biding their time with the inspection simply to punish him for the role the Malfoys had played during the war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How are you?" he asked, taking a seat at the foot of her bed. "You look wonderful."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little lying never hurt anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be silly," She smiled again at his words. He noticed that some of the color had returned to her face since he had been in the room. "I've been resting and doing little else, I can't look any different than the last time you were here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was yesterday, mum. You definitely look better than yesterday." She laughed softly, picking up the bouquet of flowers and setting them in her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you bring any more books? Any letters from Lucius?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco felt a pang of guilt when she mentioned the letters. In truth, his father hadn't written any letters. When the healer had spoken to Draco about how serious his mother's condition was, he had begun forging letters from Lucius, using a simple spell to transform his handwriting into that of his father's. He made it sound as though Lucius was living in the most comfortable and accommodating conditions possible, and that he missed his family more than anything. Lucius's ongoing silence surely confirmed that at least one of these facts was untrue, but Narcissa didn't need to know that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No letters yet, I'll get you a new book, though." He glanced at the pile of newspapers and magazines that had accumulated on top of the table. He knew it was highly likely she had read the article about him in Witch Weekly - it would have been hard to avoid at this point - but she still hadn't said anything about it. He had no desire to discuss with her either the fact that he was gay, or that he had been in a relationship with a man much older than himself, so they had both merely pretended as though nothing had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got my wand back," he said, putting on a smile once more to reassure her that things were going well. "It works just as well as it did before. I'll be sure to bring yours back for you tomorrow."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's wonderful," She said, sitting up a little straighter in her bed. "Did the Potter boy have it that whole time?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think he even remembered he had it, to be honest. He's not the most organized person in the world."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I saw in the prophet he's in auror training, did he say anything about your father? Do you think he could help get a reduced sentence?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're not friends," Draco said quickly. "I couldn't really ask."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face fell, and he felt a wave of anger that she was still so worried about the man who had compromised their safety, put them in a position where Voldemort could play with them like pawns, and then didn't even have the courtesy to write them and apologize.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed aside his own feelings about his father for a moment, composing his face once more and taking his mother's hand encouragingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry. I can talk to him again, see what I can do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to smile but then began to cough, grabbing a handkerchief that had been resting on the bedside table. He tried to ignore how bad it was starting to get, and looked away when she withdrew from the fit that had seized control of her body temporarily. The napkin now had several scarlet droplets of blood in it. The healer had explained to him that her internal organs had suffered an irreversible amount of damage from the curses that Voldemort and some of the death eaters had performed on her in the Spring, after Harry and his companions had escaped from Malfoy Manor. He himself had been chained in the cellar and tortured by some of the men that had once been his father's friends, but it was nothing near as bad as what Voldemort had done to his mother, surely to punish Lucius. He tried not to dwell on these memories, and instead did his best to suppress them with liquor or some other distraction as soon as they arose. It was difficult to ignore the effects of the war on his family, however, when they sat right there in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mother I wanted to talk with you about something," He said, squeezing her hand a little harder. "You saved his life, didn't you? In the forest?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that what he told you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought I owed him a life debt, because of what happened in the room of requirement. I think he considers this an equalizer, as far as anything I might have needed to do to repay him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded slowly. Her eyes were glazed over as though she were deep in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would have done the same for anyone, if it meant I could see you again. There was no use for the battle to continue if you weren't alive."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed her hand again, wishing once again that he hadn't left Harry's house like he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll talk to him," He said, mostly to ease his mother's mind. "I'm sure he would want to help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no intention of ever speaking to Potter again in his lifetime, but would say anything to make it seem like there was hope. She needed that more than anything right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nearly midnight when he closed the door to his room in the Leaky Cauldron once more. He had nearly forgotten the mess he had made earlier in the morning, the shards of glass lying around the room and splintered wood splayed across the floor like a tattered snowfall. He withdrew his wand and began to clean up what he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught a glance at himself in the shattered mirror, and started when he noticed the blood that had soaked through his shirt from the wound on his shoulder. He removed it quickly, examining the cut once more. He didn't have the money to check himself into St. Mungo's; he would have to find a way to get a hold of some dittany from Knockturn Alley the next morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room somewhat clean, he lay down in the large, four poster bed and tried his best to sleep. He indulged himself in thoughts of what may have happened earlier that morning if he had stayed, recalling the taste and feel of Potter's lips on his own, and wishing that he had the strength to go back.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>August, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lowered his wand as the dummy exploded, his spell causing it to incinerate and the force of the blast scattering its contents across the training room floor. He felt the familiar heat from the spell on his face as the smoke wafted towards him, taking a second to appreciate the echo from the sound of his curse that reverberated throughout the chamber. He dodged the spells being shot by the other trainers, jumping to avoid a streak of red light that nearly grazed his foot, and dodging another spell near his head with a tactical roll that his trainer had taught him after a couple weeks of classes. His heart raced as he bounded back up to his feet, letting the adrenaline his body created guide him through the exercises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were never real curses being used on him. They were simulations being produced by the auror trainers that looked and felt very near to the real thing, but there was usually the part of Harry that was able to separate wartime from practice, to know he was still safe in his training environment. Sometimes, when he was in a perilous situation, he had used this strategy in reverse, pretending it was just like practice and then letting his instincts guide him to the right decision that needed to be made. The right spell, the right move, the gut feeling telling him to engage or to play it safe. It was what he had done throughout his whole life, with Quidditch, with his coursework, with the quest for Horcruxes and the defeat of Voldemort. A constant dance of practicing and acting on instinct. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was learning, however, it was getting a bit harder for him to navigate through the muddled waters of training and real-life application of his magic as the days wore on. He was now both shadowing aurors on their missions and drilling for hours upon end in the ministry, and it was difficult knowing when it was appropriate to take his guard down. The result had been a mixture of adequate training intermingled with fleeting moments of terror that further reinforced Harry’s need to be prepared for the worst. The phrase “constant vigilance” echoed in his head, reminding him that he was doing this to protect the people he cared about, not because it was easy. He had to succeed, because to fail would mean letting down those he had already died to protect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good, very good! Now keep your senses about you, be looking out for unexpected obstacles!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His trainer, a man named Curtis Fletcher who had been taught directly by Kingsley when he had first started in the Auror Department, was grading his performance and evaluating the methods Harry chose for their review session later. He was a good fighter and an even better teacher, but best of all, he never brought up the fact that Harry was the “chosen one”, and treated him just as he would any other trainee. Harry was sometimes stuck in the ministry doing hours of overtime so he could meet his training benchmarks, and Fletcher never left the office himself until he was confident that Harry had mastered whatever it was they were working through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The encouragement from Fletcher bolstering his resolve, Harry set his jaw and continued on in the course, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next barrier that Harry encountered burst into a wall of flames before he was able to scale it. He used his wand to cast a shield charm which protected his body from the heat of the flames, and took a running start before vaulting himself over the other side of the barricade. He ran down the next aisle of obstacles, skirting another jet of light and scaling a short, brick wall as quickly as he could, dropping nimbly to the other side, once again landing on his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perfect execution, Potter. Keep it up!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused when he got to the other side of the wall, because he realized almost instantly what the next challenge would be. It was a large wooden chest, held shut with thick leather straps. It opened before he had the chance to mentally prepare himself, or even to think about what form his boggart might be assuming since the war had taken place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started breathing heavily, rooting his feet to the ground and trying to control his shaking wand hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his horror, it was not a dementor that climbed out of the trunk to greet him. It was Fred Weasley, his skin the color of fallen snow, and his eyes as lifeless as they had been when Harry had seen his body laid in the Great Hall. He was still wearing the smile that Harry had seen on his face when he had been killed. Behind him, Tonks emerged in the background, her hair the muted, dull brown color it had been during the last years of her life, not the bubblegum pink it had been when she was happiest. Remus Lupin joined her side, his robes tattered and shabby, reaching instinctively for Tonks's hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How many boggarts did you put in here?" Harry shouted at Fletcher, his voice wavering slightly as he raised his wand. He tried to focus on the figures steadily approaching him, repeating the correct words in his head, but somehow still unable to move...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ridikulus," He muttered, trying to make the figures disappear before they could wreak further havoc on his mind. "Ridikulus!" he yelled, louder this time, but he knew that nothing would happen. He couldn't summon any kind of happy thought that would help him dispel these creatures. He was letting down the very professor who had taught him this spell in the first place. He was letting everyone down again and again, even after their deaths. Most of these people would still be alive if it wasn't for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls started closing in on him, and he realized slowly what was happening. His head was spinning, he saw stars in his peripheral vision, and then, before he could stop himself, he collapsed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry came to in a brightly lit room, with a wet cloth resting on his face. He sat up quickly. He had been levitated into a hospital bed in the recovery quarters of the auror training office, and his trainer was sitting across from him appearing to be checking some boxes off some paperwork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not bad, Potter." Fletcher said approvingly. "Your training is improving, we just need to work on some of the more difficult exercises. It's perfectly normal for those who have experienced some of the things that you have."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Er... Thanks." Harry said, not really sure of how to handle this situation. “Did I --” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you lost consciousness for about 10 minutes, after the boggart exercise. I had the healers bring you in here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to apologize,” Fletcher said, offering a small smile. "It wouldn't hurt to get you over to see a ministry doctor, though. St. Mungos has a program that specializes in trauma care, I can see if Kingsley will sign off on a leave of absence for treatment."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked quickly, clearing his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, treatment? Trauma care? I'm fine, Curtis. Really. I just need a bit of time. It’s happened before and it always goes away, I just need to work harder.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fletcher smiled encouragingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Working harder isn’t always the answer to everything, Harry. With the amount of hours you’ve put into training, you’d be having no problems at all, if that were the case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I’m fine. I’m really fine.” Harry stood up and began pacing around the small room, feeling a familiar sense of aggravation boiling up within him. It reminded him of the indignancy he felt in his fifth year, when he had been telling the truth about Voldemort being back but nobody believed him. It hadn’t been the first time Fletcher had brought this up to him; in fact, when he had first gotten hired, the same Trauma Care department in St. Mungo’s was recommended to most of the new hires who had just left Hogwarts to join the auror training program. “Trust me, I’ve… I’ve been through this before. I can do it again,” he finished, determined to convince Fletcher that he wasn’t going to be stopped by something as trivial as this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry, I’ve specifically placed boggarts in your exercises for the last two weeks of training, and I’ve not seen any improvements. We spent an entire session last week working on your patronus, and you’ve been able to conjure that for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t doubt that you’ve been through this before, but it’s not nothing, and I want to treat it as such.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Harry practically shouted, clenching his fists and turning to face away from Curtis so he wouldn’t have to see the look on his face. Harry had to control this, he had to find a way to reign this part of himself in. He had to admit he had become increasingly frustrated with himself since he had kissed Draco. The wound was too fresh -- the question of whether or not he was gay, whether Draco hated him still, whether he was absolute rubbish at kissing and Draco just couldn’t be bothered with his sloppy attempt at intimacy, whether Draco thought of him at all. It was embarrassing beyond belief, and it was worse because now Harry was having dreams about Draco, instead of the people who had died during the war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time it had happened, Harry had awoken feeling so guilty, so absolutely wretched that the memories of the people he loved were being pushed out of his subconscious by some fantasy he was entertaining about Draco that he had completely fucked up his training that day. Over the next few weeks, as the dreams continued, it became increasingly difficult to focus, and Fletcher was beginning to notice. There was so much shame, so much regret that Harry had been shoving down for as long as he could remember; it was inevitable that some of it would start seeping through to the surface when he let his guard down.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It’s nothing to be ashamed of," Curtis said, not reacting to Harry’s outburst in the way that Harry expected him to. He stepped around to the desk on the other side of the room, pulling out the paperwork for Harry's discharge. "Why don't you take the afternoon off? You've done an excellent job today. Go get some rest, and we'll start again in the morning. Alright?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded, feeling foolish for getting so worked up when Curtis had only told him something that he already knew. He began to leave the room, but turned around once more before he had left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Curtis, please don't cut my training schedule because of this. I'm willing to do what it takes, and I'll work out all the personal stuff on my own. I promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fletcher placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, his kind eyes glinting with reassurance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Potter, we haven't had someone in the department with as much promise as you in decades. We're not about to let you just walk away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded again, trying to suppress the insecurities plaguing his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now take care of yourself. That's an order. Alright?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry tried his best to force a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I won't let you down, sir."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diagon Alley was almost a completely different place than it had been when Harry had first visited with Hagrid to purchase his school supplies in his first year of Hogwarts. Many of the storefronts were abandoned, their dark windows or boarded up entrances casting an eerie glow on a place that had once seemed like a magical wonderland to Harry. He walked down the cobblestone road from Gringotts to the Leaky Cauldron, where he had agreed to meet Ginny when he found out he would be free from training for the rest of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two had only seen each other a handful of times since the battle at Hogwarts. He knew she needed space to heal and process things; her method of grieving was not too different from his own. He had definitely created space for himself to heal, as well, though recent events were causing him to wonder if maybe he had left too much space. It was August, and he knew Ginny would be needing to get her school things eventually, so he offered to spend the afternoon with her in Diagon Alley collecting what she needed for the year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was sitting in a corner of the dingy pub, wearing a playful, dark blue sundress that hugged her curves like it was created to single-handedly seduce all of the men in Britain. Her long, red hair was tucked behind her ears, and the darkened freckles on her nose gave her a sort of golden, ethereal glow. She wasn't even trying to look beautiful, Harry could tell. She had thrown on a dress to detract attention from the bags under her eyes, which seemed to be a kind of universal indicator of suffering since the war had taken what it did from the wizarding world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Merlin, Gin you look gorgeous," he said as he approached her. She stood up, pulling him into a hug. Her hair had it's usual flowery scent, and Harry held her a little longer than usual just so he could take it all in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wish that was why people were staring," she muttered, sitting back down in her chair. She had ordered a small plate of chips, and had a butterbeer for each of them on the wooden table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure it's not? He asked, grinning. It was nice to be back to their normal, casual banter that didn't include flashbacks from the war. "That dress is nothing to be trifled with."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Glad we both agree," she laughed, popping a chip into her mouth. "This dress could commit murder and walk away like it was nothing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughed, scooting in a bit closer and stealing one of the chips on the table. Ginny was definitely right about the staring. He had avoided being out in public as much as possible since May, and that had been one of the reasons why. Even walking into the pub, there had been about 6 or 7 individuals who had whipped their heads around to catch a second glimpse of him. Here in the Leaky Cauldron, there were families all over the sitting area whispering to each other and pointing at him and Ginny. He had always been used to a certain level of publicity within wizarding communities because of his scar, but it had definitely gotten worse since the war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe they're just surprised we're real, human beings who have to eat real food, and not robots created by the ministry to save the world," Harry offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that's bollucks. The ministry could never design robots as charming and intelligent as ourselves."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touche,” He replied, staring subconsciously at the stairway to the inn upstairs. He wondered if Malfoy was still staying here, if he could potentially be in this building at this very moment. The thought of that sent butterflies flying madly inside Harry's stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help thinking about the dreams he had been having, the ones that had completely overtaken the nightmares he had been accustomed to since the war. It would always start out the same way, with himself and Draco in his house like they had been a couple weeks ago. Sometimes the circumstances were different; the reason why Draco was there would change, as well as the person who initiated the kiss. Each time his subconscious visited the event Draco and himself got a little further, and Harry would awake with a stiff erection that could only be facilitated by finishing the scene in his head, imagining about a million different endings to what had started in his kitchen. It had gotten to the point where Harry would have to mastrubate to the fantasy sometimes three or four times a day just to keep the thoughts at bay. The whole thing was undeniably confusing, and often made him wonder if he had ever been interested in girls to begin with. The worst part was that he was sitting here with Ginny, someone he loved and respected and definitely envisioned having some sort of a future with, and his eyes kept wandering up the staircase like he could see Draco standing naked at the top of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sipped his butterbeer, pulling himself away from the daydream he had been having. Ginny was talking about which stores she would need to go into to gather her school supplies. He listened attentively, nodding in recognition as she was speaking and muttering things like "mhm," and "yeah, of course" under his breath until he realized that Ginny was waving a hand in front of his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harry, I just asked you if you would get Kreacher's face tattooed on your arse."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said yes, so if I were you I'd get that appointment set up straight away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gin, I'm sorry," Harry sighed, trying to wipe his mind clean of everything besides the conversation they were having. “I’ve just been...distracted lately. There’s been a lot going on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You always do this." She laughed, pulling him to his feet and leaving a couple galleons on the table for the food and butterbeer, most of which were untouched. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot August sun was beating down on them overhead. Ginny walked besides Harry, passing the shop windows he had brushed by earlier. He tried to think, as he often did, of what might be on her mind. Her face revealed no emotions whatsoever, as it usually did. He knew that Fred's death had shaken her to her very core, but she didn't show it in the slightest. The only meager betrayal of her steadfast, unbreakable exterior was the tired look on her face, and the circles around her eyes. If he hadn't been sleeping well, he couldn't imagine what she was going through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wandered into Flourish and Blotts with her, helped her pick up potion ingredients at the apothecary, and then both of them gravitated naturally to Quality Quidditch Supplies, where they began browsing the shelves and investigating the new Firebolt Supreme prototype model. They didn't have to catch up on much, as both of them were quite content just commenting on the new features of the broom, or exploring the gadgets they could find on the shelves. Harry was shocked when he checked his watch and realized they had spent nearly 45 minutes in the Quidditch shop alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fancy a drink before you head back?" he asked, carrying the parcels with all of her school things out of the shop when they had finally decided they'd had enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hermione told me not to drink with you," Ginny smirked, linking her hands together and swinging them out in front of her while she walked, her short dress flowing in the gentle breeze. "So yes, I would love one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She has to stop telling people that. So far she's the only person I haven't drank with."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, but then you'll have to have the inevitable conversation about her not being your mother. That just can't go well, can it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Trust me, I’ve tried it many times before, and nothing has seemed to stick yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were walking under the awning of Florean Fortescue’s old ice cream parlor, which had since been boarded up after his death. Ginny cracked a joke that Harry barely registered, beaming at him out of the corner of her eye, and Harry was suddenly struck with an overwhelming feeling of desire -- something he hadn’t felt towards Ginny since the first couple weeks in which they had been dating. Harry stopped in his tracks and swallowed quickly, biting back the urge to lean forward and kiss her. They had decided to put things on hold after the war, just to give both of them a little time to make sense of things on their own, but now he was staring at her, with her auburn eyelashes and golden freckles and sweet-smelling hair and he couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Harry?” She said, her voice tinged with concern, and bringing him out of his own mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he remembered why he shouldn’t kiss her. Just one look from those beautiful, brown eyes assured him that she was still very much in love with him. It was lightly coded in the way she teased, in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t noticing. A tidal wave of guilt washed over him and he suddenly felt that he needed to get as far away from Ginny as possible. He wanted to kiss her, yes, but he also spent hours every day fantasizing about fucking Draco Malfoy. How he had been feeling about Draco was deeply troubling in its own right, but now he was realizing that it could affect Ginny as well, should they continue on the path they were going down. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that kind of commitment right now, with so many uncertainties in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, I was just thinking," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground and avoiding Ginny’s face as much as possible. "Maybe Hermione has a point. Why don't we turn in for the night, maybe do this some other time?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh?" Ginny's tone had changed, and Harry could tell he had hurt her feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, it's been loads of fun, though. I can help you carry these back to the leaky cauldron so you can floo home if you'd like,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry, I've got it." She took the parcels from him and gave him a very forced, unnatural smile. "See you round, Harry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She strode away briskly, her flaming red hair flowing behind her in the breeze. Harry exhaled deeply, tilting his head back to look up at the evening sky. It was turning vibrant shades of orange and purple near the horizon as the sun began to set. This could have been such a beautiful night. He closed his eyes briefly, wishing more than anything that he could be someone else, someone whose mind was not troubled by traumatic nightmares or pale blonde boys who confused the shit out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he needed a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snapped out of his trance almost immediately as a loud clicking noise sounded, accompanied by a bright flash. A reporter was now standing in the street in front of him, having likely just captured the front page for whatever tabloid they represented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oi, what are you looking at?" Harry bellowed, and the man retreated slightly, withdrawing his camera from Harry's face. Harry was reminded for a nauseating second of Colin Creevey. His mind instantly jumped to the image of the boy's corpse lying on the table in the Great Hall, right next to those of Tonks, Fred, Lupin, Lavender, and so many more of the people that had died for him that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Piss off,” he muttered, shoving past the reporter and apparating in the middle of the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had only been to this bar once before, a couple weeks after Draco had come to visit him. He wasn’t sure what he had been trying to prove at the time, if he had been trying to convince himself he wasn’t actually bent, or if he was just seeking refuge in a welcoming, friendly environment. Either way he had decided to pay a visit to the place that Remus and Sirius had scrawled letters back and forth about, the bustling, muggle gay bar which was not terribly far from Grimmauld Place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Harry had stepped in through the door for the first time and descended the neon, light-up steps to the dance floor, his jaw had nearly dropped to the ground. There were men everywhere, dancing and grinding to the beat of the music, kissing, sharing drinks and laughs over in the lounge area, caressing each other with absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most hedonistic, exciting thing that Harry had ever walked into. He had gone straight to the bar, where he struck up a bit of a conversation with the bartender and gradually learned that his godfather used to be an old regular at this place. It hadn’t surprised Harry too much when he had found out that Sirius had been gay; Ever since he had stumbled across some of Sirius’ old letters from friends in Grimmauld Place he had suspected as much, but it was somehow comforting to know that he was sitting in the same spot that Sirius often had, and that both of them shared this hidden part of their identities. Harry knew enough to understand that homosexuality was more taboo in the wizarding world than it was the muggle world, which was saying something. He thought back to the jokes that children used to make about him in primary school, before he had gone to Hogwarts. How Dudley’s gang used to call him “faggot” or “poofta” for being a skinny, 11-year-old outcast. But here… that very quality was being celebrated in a way that Harry couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the bar Harry had chosen to apparate outside of when he had left Diagon Alley. He hadn’t danced with anyone or tried anything adventurous the first time he had been here, and he doubted anything would happen tonight either, but it was the only bar he could think of where there wouldn’t be swarms of people staring at him or trying to get his autograph. At least here he could just drink and feel somewhat like a normal person again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bartender was probably in his 60s, with a bald head and a well groomed, white beard. He smiled when he saw Harry again, reaching instinctively to make the drink that apparently had been Sirius’ regular too: Jameson whiskey with a shot of cinnamon. Harry had thought he had been so clever ordering this the first time, and the confirmation from the bartender that Sirius had thought of the same, muggle recipe for Firewhiskey as he had was more euphoric than the warm, comforting burn of the alcohol in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take another one,” he smiled, laying down a couple muggle notes on the bar in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me,” a deep voice spoke from over his shoulder, pushing the money back towards Harry and motioning to the bartender that he wanted two of what Harry was having. “They’re better at the Leaky, for the record.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked sideways at the man, his heart giving a lurch in his chest as he realized that he wasn’t the only person here who wasn’t a muggle. The man was tall, very fit looking and tanned, as though he spent a lot of time out in the non-existent British sunshine. Come to think of it, his accent sounded American, as Harry could tell from the programs he had watched on Dudley’s television whenever the Dursleys were away from home. He didn’t think he had ever talked with an American before, much less had one buy him a drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he said, a bit sheepishly. It was safe to assume that if this man frequented the Leaky Cauldron, he probably knew who Harry was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Mitch,” he said, extending a hand to Harry. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I know I’m not used to finding blokes in here who enjoy firewhiskey as much as myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was startled to find that he wasn’t as caught off guard by this man’s wizarding background as he was by his appearance. Mitch had sandy coloured hair, deep brown eyes accented by gorgeous, thick eyelashes, and the most exquisite bone structure Harry had ever seen. He almost had to do a double take when the man took a seat next to Harry at the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I er -- Yeah. I’m Harry,” he stuttered, wiping his hand nervously on his pants and then extending it to the man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to meet you,” Mitch smiled, and his teeth were almost as blindingly white as Gilderoy Lockhart’s. “Have to say, it’s always a bit of a relief when I see someone here that runs in the same circles as us. I might not be a muggle, but I still have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulse</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do people from… our circles wander in here often?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. The firewhiskey had brought a light flush to his cheeks, but if he was being completely honest, he wasn’t sure the heat under his collar was from the alcohol or the man seated next to him. Not that he needed to have his suspicions confirmed another time, but he was absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, attracted to men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every now and then,” Mitch responded, and he cringed slightly when he added “I hate to say it, but normally no one as recognizable as you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Harry muttered, grinning in spite of himself. “I came here to get away from that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t blame you. I couldn’t imagine being in your shoes,” Mitch stared ahead at the bar shelf, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “Just watch out for people trying to take your picture here, you don’t want that plastered on the tabloids.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I literally</span>
  <em>
    <span> just </span>
  </em>
  <span>had someone waving a camera in my face. If it doesn’t die down soon, I’m going to need facial reconstructive surgery.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitch laughed, a hearty, booming sound that was more comforting than Harry expected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re funny,” he said, grinning again. “They always make you out to be some stuffy, holier than thou hero in the papers. I know you’re probably sick of hearing people rattle on about the papers, but you know what I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know.” Harry raised his eyebrows, taking another drink of the whiskey and letting the burning sensation console his nerves. “You accent -- Are you American?” he asked, figuring it was worth mentioning. It was either that, or maybe Canadian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Mitch responded, in between sips of his drink. “I’m a lawyer, I’ve been working in the London institute for the last couple years.” Harry nodded in recognition; It wasn’t uncommon for the Ministry to commission talented Wizarding Law Institute Graduates to work on some of the higher profile cases in the Auror Department. Harry knew from the trials he had observed that the lawyer’s services didn’t come cheap. Hermione had actually looked into attending the institute herself after she finished up her last year of Hogwarts, a decision which both Ron and Harry had decided to opt out of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like it?” Harry asked, just making conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a living,” Mitch responded. “I think that’s what most people say about their jobs, anyways.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing Mitch talk like this about his career lifted his spirits substantially, given the particularly trying day Harry had at the ministry. Harry was glad that that he and this man had just so happened to stumble into the same, muggle gay bar on the same Thursday night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like I’m rubbish at mine,” Harry said honestly, not knowing why he was sharing so much with someone he had just met five minutes ago. “Everyone seems to get it except me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not everyone has been through what you have,” Mitch said, echoing Fletcher’s sentiments earlier. “They probably don’t get how you’ve done all the things you have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither do I, honestly.” Harry said candidly, coaxing another laugh out of the man, who drained the rest of his whiskey and promptly ordered another round. “It was mostly luck. That, and other people working harder than me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that’s possible,” Mitch said, frowning slightly. “But it’s really not the most likely of scenarios.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sound like everyone else I have ever met,” Harry responded, maybe a little snarkier than he was meaning to. Maybe he was a little drunker than he had been meaning to get, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...Question for you,” Mitch said, shifting the subject as he started on his new whiskey. “How is it that you’ve managed to live half your life in the public eye and completely hide the fact that you’re gay? Do you just know the right people in the Public Relations business?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry squinted as he thought of the right answer to this question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not sure. That I’m gay, that is. I think I’m probably, most likely bisexual.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitch raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Progressive,” he said, pulling a face that feigned that he was in deep thought. “So no boyfriend?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing like that.” Harry smiled, his face turning properly red now. The thought entered his mind that this man might be trying to hit on him, but he quickly dismissed it. Mitch had to be at least in his thirties, and he was clearly just bonding with Harry over the fact that they were the only magical people in this club. Besides, he looked to be far outside of Harry’s league, even if he was flirting. There was no way anything would come of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ok, don’t tell me you secretly work for Witch Weekly,” Harry quipped back, figuring that humor was the only way he could carry on some semblance of a normal conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh God, no.” Mitch laughed again, and Harry got another glimpse of his shockingly white teeth. “No, I just… I know what it’s like being closeted in this community. They certainly don’t make it easy on us, they never have. All the blood status nonsense mingled in with it, it’s just hard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded, glad he had found someone who at least could speak to the complex dynamic of being a queer wizard in this world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Harry said, not really sure of what else to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just know that you’re not alone. And if you do decide to come out, with the whole world watching, I think you could really change some bigoted minsets that have been stuck in the 1400s for far too long.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry hadn’t thought of that before. Not that he had ever considered the possibility of coming out publicly, but the idea that children looked up to him, that the whole wizarding world was watching his every move was starting to sink in a little deeper when he thought about his sexuality. For some reason it sent a shiver down his spine, a tingling of fear that he hadn’t realized was there when he had walked into this bar experimentally a couple weeks ago. This had higher stakes than he had really contemplated before, and that thought alone made him want to curl up inside his flat and never set foot outside his door again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitch must have noticed the expression on his face transform slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like I overstepped,” he said apologetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not that… I’m actually needing to get up pretty early tomorrow. I should head home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s obviously your personal decision, whether or not to come out. It wasn’t my place -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s nothing, really, I just… I just should probably be more careful. Moving forward, that is.” Harry offered a reassuring smile. “And I’ve got training at 6 AM, I probably shouldn’t be drinking as it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh -- Alright,” Mitch looked concerned, and Harry couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt for this ungraceful exit he was making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the drink,” Harry said, offering a lopsided smile and wave at the bartender as he turned to leave, the pulse of the music still vibrating through his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What was he doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry thought to himself as he jogged up the steps to the street, taking a right to head back to Grimmauld Place. Why hadn’t he understood the implications of his exploratory visits here? As Mitch said back in the bar, Harry had spent half his life in the public eye, with the wizarding community praising or villainizing him for his every action. Of course they would turn the matter of his sexuality into a giant media affair. People would take their sides, deciding whether he was a noble pioneer of progress within the wizarding world, or a perverted, sexually depraved deviant who set a terrible example for those who looked up to him. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself for this reason, or make some unintentional political statement. It wasn’t just as easy as him deciding he liked kissing Draco, or blushing in a crowded bar when a handsome stranger bought him a drink. Nothing could ever be that simple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t normal, as much as he enjoyed pretending that he could be mistaken for a muggle in a gay bar, an anonymous stranger with no lasting trauma from the encounters that he had been put through, and no international wizarding organization analzying everything he did. He would have given anything in that moment to be a scrawny, 11-year-old boy again, magical or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was about a 20 minute walk for Harry to get home, which he figured was probably his safest bet after the couple rounds of whiskey he had drank at the bar. The heat of the day had finally lifted, and the city was left with a warm, humid fog hanging in the air, as though someone had tried to smother all of London with a blanket. He wasn’t upset with it though; the weight of the air around him was somehow comforting as he walked alone on the lamplit sidewalks. He decided to take a detour to cross over to the riverbank, which was only a couple of blocks out of his way. As soon as he had made it to the Thames, the humidity in the air was helped by the soft breeze coming off of the water. He found the bench that he had sat in a couple times before now, a comfortable resting spot on the roof of a small shop along the west bank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat there and watched the business professionals stride purposefully along the walk, the families who were clearly touring the city bustling along at their own, slightly slower pace. Slowest of all were the lovers, their hands intertwined, lingering on each step along the riverfront and trying to make a minute feel like an hour. It was these people that Harry thought about the most, what was going on in their heads, what it was that made them seem like they didn’t have a single care in the world. If he were living in a simpler world, that could have been him and Ginny, he supposed. They were both attracted to each other, both had fun with each other. They could play the part convincingly, walking hand-in-hand along the water and marvelling at the beauty of the city at night together. But to Harry, it wouldn’t be enough, somehow. He was always going to wonder what it would be like if he didn’t settle, if he let the passion lead him instead of his desire for complacency. He couldn’t live not knowing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t know how to know, either. He hadn’t the faintest idea where to start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat at the bench until the crowds started trickling down to only a couple stragglers here and there, and only when the trash collectors started cleaning up the park around him did he decide to head home. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>August, 1998</p><p>It was late afternoon, and the summer heat was finally lifting in Hogsmeade, the cool breeze filtering through the trees and whispering around the corners of the brick buildings. Draco headed south at the Hog's Head, approaching the largest apartment building in the village, which he had entered several times before to meet with a couple of the clients he had established in this small wizarding community. He walked through the heavy oak door on the side of the building, which led to the rickety, wooden staircase he followed up to the 6th floor.</p><p>He hadn't meant to get involved with this line of work; in fact, he had avoided it for as long as possible when he had been evaluating his options, trying to scrape enough money together to keep up with his mother's bills. He had sold most of the valuables he still had in his possession - some of his fancier clothes, some trinkets and rings he was able to take with him before the ministry had begun their investigation on the manor - but it had never been enough. He was barely able to pay what was required to keep his mother admitted in St. Mungo's, let alone the cost of staying in the Leaky Cauldron until he finally was permitted to return to the manor. He had even tried going back to his house a couple of times to see what artifacts he was able to nick from his father's study, but the protective charms the ministry officials had cast around the house wouldn't even permit him to enter the long driveway leading up to the estate. He was completely and irreversibly stuck.</p><p>He had gone into Knockturn Alley to procure some dittany and heal his splinched shoulder. Just as he had anticipated, the shopkeeper had approached him once more to ask him if he would be interested in selling any Laethelixir, the bright blue liquid vial that he had been offered last time he was in the shop. Draco had refused, sure that he would be able to afford his expenses as soon as the ministry had sorted through all of his father's possessions in the manor, and added as much time on to his sentence as they saw fit. The weeks came and passed, however, and he was only sliding deeper into debt and growing more and more desperate. He visited his mother every day, still managing to put on a smile and tell her whatever lies he happened to come up with (Potter was working with his contacts at the ministry to get Lucius another hearing, Draco had reconnected with a lovely, pureblood witch who was going back for her last year of Hogwarts in the fall), and then he locked himself in his room in the Leaky Cauldron and tried to not think about the fact that his mother was going to die, and that he was going to follow her to the grave much sooner than expected if he couldn't turn this around somehow.</p><p>It was with great reluctance that he ended up in Mulpepper's Apothecary only a couple weeks after he had purchased the dittany, requesting to speak with the shopkeeper about the opportunities he had available for a "distributor". It was much easier of a process than Draco had anticipated; the job entailed visiting a list of clients that had already been compiled by several of the shop owners in Knockturn Alley, and taking whatever action necessary to avoid ministry workers and Aurors. Draco would have to be quick on his feet and adaptive to ever-changing circumstances, as the ministry was currently going to great measures to investigate and stop the spread of this potion in the wizarding community. They claimed that, due to the addictive nature of the elixir, lethal overdoses were known to occur when the potion was administered improperly. Mulpepper denied this rumor most adamantly, insisting that none of the client base he had built had ever reported any such instance; it served as a fear-mongering tactic more than anything. Nevertheless, Draco would need to build his client list under the guise of a deliveryman for the bookshop adjoining the apothecary. The books he exchanged had been hollowed out to include a couple of the vials inside the covers to circumvent Ministry suspicion.</p><p>The repercussions of the war were leaving so many inside the community reeling in shock and despair, and the market for this type of quick fix potion had never been better. Draco had quickly found that word of mouth was making most of his commision for him - in most of the homes he delivered to, he would receive a name and address of a friend that was interested, which led to a grapevine of contacts almost faster than he was able to keep up. He had his regular clients and made his base salary off of the people who cycled through the potions every couple of days, and within a month he had started making enough money to break even with the amount of galleons he owed to both the hospital and the inn. It was steady, reliable work. He found himself spending more time making his rounds than sitting in St. Mungo's, but knew that he wouldn't be able to keep his mother alive more than a couple weeks if he wasn't working.</p><p>He rounded the stairwell to the landing of the 6th floor apartment building in Hogsmeade. The lanterns fastened to the walls above were flickering vaguely, casting eerie, golden projections onto the peeling wallpaper in the hallway. He knocked lightly when he reached Apartment 617, checking both ways to ensure that he was not being followed. To his surprise, the door was not opened by a client, but by a small child who couldn't have been more than 4 years old. He checked the note that he had scribbled down at his previous stop, making sure that he had the address right.</p><p>"Who are you?" The girl asked, holding onto the doorknob with both hands and swaying back and forth lazily in her faded purple nightgown. She had stringy, dark blonde hair and very large, brown eyes. Draco heard another child begin to start crying from within the apartment.</p><p>"I'm a friend of your mum's," Draco spoke, checking the note one more time. "Is she home by chance?"</p><p>"Are you our new dad?" the girl asked, keeping the door open only far enough for Draco to see into the entryway. It was filled with scattered laundry and what looked like piles of trash stacked against the walls. The smell of the stale, unclean surroundings was spreading slowly into the hallway. Draco blinked, slightly taken aback. He wasn't good with children; he didn't know how to respond to a question like this.</p><p>"No, I’m not," he said, starting to wonder if this stop had been a bad idea. "Can you run along and get your mum for me?" The girl stopped swinging off of the door handle, and nodded quickly, shutting the door. Draco heard quick footsteps echoing down the hallway inside.</p><p>Draco took a step back, fishing around in his bag and sorting through his inventory, mostly just to distract himself as he waited. After several long moments, the door opened back up again, and a tall, thin woman stepped out, another smaller child propped on her hip. This child was red faced and sobbing quietly, tucking his head into his mother's hair as soon as he saw Draco waiting in the corridor.</p><p>"Are you the distributor?" The woman asked, pulling her hair out of the child's tight grasp, and causing him to cry louder.</p><p>Draco nodded, keeping his book bag secured at his side. He was feeling more uncomfortable by the second.</p><p>"I'm so sorry," she said, referring to the child who was continuing to sob on her shoulder. "It's been a little rough - my husband was killed in the battle in May."</p><p>Draco swallowed quickly, trying his best to remain level-headed.</p><p>"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, avoiding eye contact. He fiddled with the zipper on his bag once more.</p><p>"Look, are the potions - you know - safe for children?" She looked both ways up and down the hallway, even though Draco was sure there was no one else in the vicinity of their conversation. "My friend told me that he had given a bit to his son, that it seemed to help..."</p><p>Draco started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave this place behind as fast as he could.</p><p>"I really couldn't say, I don't know." He zipped his back shut once more, taking a step away from the woman. The child on her hip continued to sob, his cries growing louder and louder by the second.</p><p>"Wait," she said, sensing that he was about to leave. "Don't go. I can pay you what you need, I have money." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. It appeared as though she were fighting a cold, on top of everything else that was going on at the moment. "I just need help. Please."</p><p>Draco hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to another as he wavered on the spot. There was no guidebook for a situation like this, but he had a terrible feeling about this whole situation. He wanted to just disapparate from this building entirely - maybe catch a couple hours of sleep in his room at the inn - but there were rules for these types of situations. Besides, he couldn't just leave this woman to tend to her suffering children on her own. His involvement with the war, no matter how reluctant he may have been at the time, meant he owed her at least a courteous explanation, or a promise of some kind of other assistance.</p><p>"If you don't," she continued, pulling her hair back away from the child's iron grip once more. "I'll just get it from someone else."</p><p>He looked from her face to the crying child and back again, still visibly uncomfortable. What if his actions seriously injured one of the innocent and fatherless children in her home?</p><p>"Please?" She repeated once more.</p><p>He noticed that her eyes were the same color and shape as her daughter's.</p><p>"It's 10 galleons for a vial," he said, finally unzipping his bag and retrieving a couple of books from within.</p><p>...</p><p>The hospital was more crowded than usual as Draco checked in at the reception desk, walking down the familiar hallway to his mother's room at the end. He had decided to leave Hogsmeade after he had made his last delivery of the day. Rather than completing his circuit of regular customers as he was accustomed to on a Saturday evening, he went straight back to the Leaky Cauldron and took a long, hot shower, letting the steam from the water seep into his pores and wash off some of the guilt and revulsion from the day. He would like to have said it helped, but he could still feel the gravity of the situation he was in like an ever-present anchor tugging him slowly downwards, making him feel more desperate and trapped by the minute.</p><p>His mother was sleeping when he visited her room. Some days, the healers told him, were better than others; some days she had the strength to sit up and carry on a conversation with him like nothing was wrong, and other days she would barely stir from her sleep the entire time he was there. He sat down at the foot of her bed, hoping that she would recognize his presence, would want to sit up and talk to him about the books he had dropped off (the latest of which was a muggle novel called "Great Expectations", that she seemed to have enjoyed,) but she didn't stir when he brushed her hand lightly with his own.</p><p>There was a new drawing that had been placed on her bedside table. He picked it up and smiled at the two figures interpreted on the parchment - one of them very tall with long, straight hair and a smile on her face, and the second a small boy with vivid, yellow colored hair who appeared to be holding hands with the woman. It was a sweet picture, like many of the ones the child had left in her room before. Draco had met him a couple times when the child was being shepherded by his father around the hospital wing. His mother had taken a particular liking to him, always asking engaging questions and usually having a couple spare pieces of chocolate to share with the boy. Draco couldn't help but think that part of the reason his mother took such measures to be kind to the boy was that he reminded her of her own son, who was spending less and less time in the ward these days.</p><p>"Mum?" he said softly, hoping that she would wake up. He squeezed her hand lightly, but to no avail - she continued to sleep, her chest rising and falling slowly, rhythmically under the blankets.</p><p>He thought back to the young children he had encountered earlier that day, and a deep, overwhelming feeling of misery overcame him. He brushed away a tear as soon as he felt it on his face. He didn't want that to be the first thing his mother saw when she awoke.</p><p>"I'm sorry I haven't been round as much as I should have been," he said, pretending that she was able to hear him, mostly for himself. He could hear the clock ticking on the wall, and the healers bustling up and down the hallway. His mother was probably in a deep, dreamless sleep, not to be troubled by either his apprehensions or excuses. Regardless of whether or not she could hear him, he began to talk to her as he always did when he visited. He told her about his day, about what the weather was like outside, about all the things he was sure she would have wanted to hear about his father. It was therapeutic in a way, to lie to her in a way that made his circumstances seem much better than they were. He knew it always made her happy to hear these things, and it brought him some kind of perverted, nearly delusional satisfaction to hear the words coming out of his own mouth.</p><p>He stayed at the foot of the bed, his hand stroking hers gently for what felt like an hour, until a healer opened the door and mentioned that they would be wrapping up visiting hours shortly. He nodded in response, wiping another tear away from his cheek before wishing his mother goodbye, planting the usual kiss on her forehead as he left.</p><p>...</p><p>The shadows of the streets were growing longer as he returned to Diagon Alley. He had apparated, as he usually did, just down the road from the Leaky Cauldron, in hopes of finding something to bring back to the inn for dinner that wasn't fried bar food.</p><p>He halted mid-step as he passed the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, advertising the new broom that could accelerate at twice the speed of the Firebolt. It wasn't the model broom in the window that caught his attention, however. It was a tall, dark haired wizard with round spectacles who was wearing a faded denim muggle jacket and examining one of the boxes lined up on the shelf nearest to the window. He instantly felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel, not dissimilar to the feeling of disapparation that he had just experienced moments earlier. He wanted to vanish again, to disappear from the street so he wouldn't have to have to be taunted by Potter's smug, handsome face through the window. He thought back to when Potter had kissed him, of the firmness of his grip on Draco's wrist but the nearly impossible tenderness of his lips... That memory had been what kept him moving forward, the single spark of happiness that he relied on when everything else seemed to be falling apart.</p><p>He stopped in the middle of the street, watching through the window for a couple moments, observing Potter, admiring the way he studied the Quidditch book in his hands, the way his eyes roved across the page, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. Part of Draco wondered if there was any way he could wander inside without making it too obvious that he had found Potter here. He could casually pick something up off the shelf as well, pretending not to notice Potter, and then could pretend to be shocked that they were in the same store together. He wasn't sure what he would say - maybe he could make a crude joke about Potter always looking for a new broom to ride, maybe he could suggest that they grab a drink in the Leaky Cauldron together, and then they could just see what followed afterwards.</p><p>His fantasy was derailed only a moment after it had begun when a familiar, redheaded witch appeared around the corner of the aisle, holding a broom servicing kit and pointing out something to Harry on the box. He laughed, tossing his head back and placing the book in his hands back onto the shelf. She looked pleased with herself for eliciting such a reaction from him.</p><p>Of course. He had forgotten about the Weasley girl. Of course Potter had gone back to her; their relationship had been all anyone seemed to talk about at the end of his 6th year when Draco had far bigger concerns on his mind. He watched them through the glass, the way they were smiling and teasing each other, her short, blue dress that was clearly carefully chosen to attract his attention...</p><p>He couldn't take it anymore. He closed his eyes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks and continuing to walk down the street. He focused on the furthest building in his line of sight and pressed on, disregarding the witches and wizards he passed on the cobbled road, not even flinching when a photographer captured his picture with a bright flash when he had almost reached the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't stop until he had reached his room, and had pressed his back against the closed wooden door. It was as if all of the pain he was feeling had led to this moment; he slid down to the floor, beginning to sob uncontrollably. He was struggling for breath, keeping his eyes squeezed shut tightly so he couldn't see the Laethelixir stacked in piles around the room.</p><p>He never imagined his life would end up like this. He was supposed to have gone to healing school, he wasn’t supposed to be gay, and he was supposed to have parents who were both supportive of him and alive to care about him. He had every opportunity provided to him to accomplish great things, it had all gone wrong. He needed to think of a way to fix this without having to peddle off the rest of the supply surrounding him, the books stacked up 12 high on the desk and overflowing from boxes strewn around the floor. He had to find a place to live, and he had to get himself out of this mess.</p><p>After several minutes of slow, intentional breathing, Draco finally stood up, wiping the dust off of his slacks. As much as he loathed the idea of reaching out to someone else to fix his problems, he couldn't do this alone. He needed to ask for help, and he had no one else to turn to then the only living member of his family who wasn't dead, on their deathbed in St. Mungo's, or imprisoned in Azkaban. If he had learned anything from his father, it was that wizarding blood was more important than any other type of bond that could be formed. He only hoped that, for his own sake, his aunt still believed the same thing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>September, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you imagine, Harry," Ron said to his friend, trailing behind Ginny and Hermione as the boys helped them carry their belongings through King's Cross Station. "After everything we've been through, voluntarily signing up for another year of sitting through classes and stressing about exams? We've already saved the whole bloody world, what more could they possibly have to teach us?" Hermione turned around, a wide, plastic carrier in her hands that, as anyone could determine from the hissing and spitting issuing forth from the caged door, contained a very large and feral animal who did not enjoy being shoved into a box and carried through the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It may surprise you to know, Ron," she said, shooting him a pointed look, "that not all of us want to be aurors."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but a fair few of us do," Ron responded, grinning as he pushed the cart holding Hermione's trunk through the crowds of muggles to Platform 9 3/4. "Dean, Seamus, Neville, Parvati - hell, you may be the only person from our year who's actually going back to school,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I honestly don't care," she said, turning around and continuing to walk through the station. "Some careers need more training than others."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you hear that?" Ron said, looking at Harry again, an incredulous expression on his face. "She thinks she's better than us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm," Harry muttered in acknowledgement. Ginny had glanced back at him momentarily, her hazel eyes meeting his for a second, and then she continued to look straight ahead, ignoring the conversation they were having.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the evening they had spent in Diagon Alley, Ginny had asked to meet with Harry again, this time at The Burrow. It was a quiet Saturday afternoon. The rest of the family was at Shell Cottage celebrating Bill's birthday, but she had stayed behind, saying she wasn't feeling up to being around people at the moment. When Harry had arrived at the house he found her out in the garden, wearing her blue dress again and sitting lazily on an old, wooden swing that looked like it had seen better days. Everything around her was so vividly green; the overgrown grass and hydrangea bushes creating a safe little haven in the Weasleys' backyard. If he hadn't had so much on his mind, Harry would have loved to lie down next to her in the grass until the sky turned dark and the clouds were replaced with stars. He wanted to talk to her about everything, but he feared that the second he told her about any number of the troubling thoughts going through his head, she would want nothing to do with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had looked up when he walked into the garden, her face not as vibrant as it usually was when he found her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," she said, planting her bare toes in the ground to stop herself from swinging. "Thanks for coming."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, anytime," he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a habit he had recently caught himself doing whenever he felt uncomfortable. "What did you, er... want to talk about?" He didn't have a better way of transitioning the conversation, and didn't think he could handle any small talk at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny ran her fingers through the roots of her hair, sweeping it away from her face and making Harry wish he could bury himself in its sweet, familiar scent. He had been thinking about her constantly since he had gotten her letter. He missed her laugh, her sarcasm, her freckled shoulders and the curve of her hips - he hadn't been deluding himself into thinking that he didn't want her any longer. But how was he sure he really knew what he wanted? He was realizing more and more recently that he hardly knew anything about himself. He had thought that being an auror was something he was meant to do for the rest of his life. He had thought that he would learn to outrun the ghosts of the war by now, and he had thought until very recently that the feelings he had about other men were just feelings, and nothing he would seriously consider acting upon...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harry, I need you to tell me something. Don't overthink it, just tell me what you're feeling." Ginny paused, taking a deep breath. "Are we... are we anything?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been so taken aback by her question that his jaw had dropped noticeably. She continued, disregarding his reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There was definitely something back in school, you and I both felt it, but you’ve been different. You’ve been more reserved, more distracted, and I know we’ve both changed since the war but I just… I can't live my life not knowing if we’re headed somewhere or not. It's driving me mad."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, standing in the garden and staring at his shoes so he wouldn't have to see the look on her face when he hesitated, not answering right away as she had asked him to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I... I don't know, Gin. Maybe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, as soon as he had lifted his eyes, they met Ginny's and he saw all of the confusion, the anger, and the disappointment that he had been expecting to see. He felt a heavy weight in his stomach, knowing from this point on that there was nothing he could do to fix this. The damage had been done, and he immediately looked away, feeling an overwhelming surge of guilt. He should have told her everything - how he felt about her, how he was struggling with training at work and how he had kissed Draco at the end of June - she surely would have been able to offer him advice or at least understand why he was acting the way that he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well if you're not sure," she had said, lowering her gaze and clenching her teeth in frustration, "that's probably your answer, then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had tried writing to her after this, tried explaining as many of his thoughts as he could, but no matter how many times he attempted to put his feelings onto paper it had never seemed good enough to actually send to Ginny. He had given up trying, and instead taken up drinking with Ron after their auror training nearly every evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was with tremendous shame, then, that he continued to walk behind Ginny, pushing the cart with her school trunk and catching a whiff of her hair with the soft breeze that passed them. He hadn't told Ron and Hermione about what had happened, (mostly because he wasn't entirely sure what had transpired himself), but he knew they could probably tell something was a little off with both Him and Ginny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hogwarts Express was idling on the platform at King's Cross Station, steam billowing out of the engine and wafting its way through the crowds of wizarding families congregating to send their loved ones off. Molly and Arthur, having come straight from Gringotts to meet their daughter on the platform, were there to smother Ginny and Hermione in farewell hugs and wishes of good luck. After what felt like an eternity of Molly checking to make sure they had everything they needed, handing them food to take on the train and wrapping them in hugs again and again, Hermione saw the chance to slip away from her fussing for a moment. She grabbed Harry by the arm, bringing him off to the side of the platform so they could have a word. He was immediately glad to have an excuse to be away from Ginny; he could barely look at her without feeling the weight in his stomach again, wishing to fly as far away as he could on his broomstick so he would never have to face her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harry, I don't know what's going on with you two," she said, motioning to Ginny, who was now showing off her new broom servicing kit to a couple members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."I just want you to know that she asked me if you were seeing someone," Hermione said candidly, waving uncomfortably at some first year students who were pointing her and Harry out to their parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would she ask you that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's just curious, I suppose," Hermione shrugged. "And she obviously still cares about you. And she asked me to talk to you. And I'm about to spend a whole year sleeping in the same room as her, so please just make this as easy as possible for me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughed, Hermione's anxiety about her proximity to Ginny for the next 8 months somehow making him feel better about all of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I feel like you would have known if I were. Seeing someone, that is." He granted her a smile, which she returned half-heartedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harry, just...be gentle. Please. She doesn't show she's hurting like the rest of us. She just sort of...brushes it off." They both glanced over at the redheaded witch again, who was now excitedly pantomiming a story to her friends that, from the looks of it, contained a very elaborate and disastrous broomstick collision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I know." Harry replied. In truth, that was what he loved about her; her ability to remain so strong even when everything around them seemed to be crumbling. He had never even seen her grieve Fred's death like the rest of them had. She had shut herself in her room for the first couple of weeks after the war, but otherwise she appeared to be nothing but her confident, playful self. Harry both admired and envied her for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Promise you’ll write to me, ok? Just let me know what's going on. Ron is rubbish at filling me in." The train whistle sounded, and the students were beginning to say their last goodbyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, of course," he said, taking a deep breath. Part of him wished that he could be getting on the train with them, just to escape to the place which had always brought him solace as a child; made him feel as though he had a home. He had to remind himself that it wasn't that place anymore, and he was no longer the child who could think of Hogwarts as a refuge from his life with the Dursleys. He knew he wouldn't be able to think of the school without first remembering the war for a very, very long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione, who must have sensed something a little off in his expression, pulled him into a quick hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're all going to be ok," she said, surely reassuring herself as much as she was Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're just as bad as Ron's mum," Harry replied, grinning as she pulled away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, shut up," she laughed, pushing him playfully in the chest. She led Harry back to the train where Ginny and Ron were standing with their parents. Harry stood in the circle of people, shifting his weight uncomfortably on his feet as Hermione took Ron off to the side and embraced him as well, sharing some words with him and then a short farewell kiss. Harry could feel his ears turning red with embarrassment; Ginny stood just a couple of feet from him and he had no parting words or affections to share with her. The fact that her parents were right beside him, looking very confused by his reluctance to speak with her, was only exacerbating the situation. He was relieved when Hermione and Ginny finally boarded the train, and Ron announced that he and Harry had better get back to the ministry before they missed any more work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron didn't seem to have noticed Harry's avoidance of Ginny on the platform, or if he did, he hadn't said anything about it. Harry appreciated that about his friend; Whereas Hermione would drill him with questions until she got to the root of whatever problem he was having, Ron was content with ignoring something if it seemed to be making Harry uncomfortable. The two of them apparated at the ministry entrance, entering through the telephone box on the corner of Trafalger Square and walking through the giant, vaulted atrium to the lifts that would take them to the Auror Department. Ron picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet and a chocolate bar at a kiosk that had been set up in the lobby, and the two of them stood in silence as the large, brass doors of the elevator closed behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Blimey," Ron exclaimed after a moment of looking over the paper, the chocolate bar remaining unopened in his hand. "Look at this, Harry," he said, offering the paper to his friend. "I guess we missed more than we thought this morning." On the front page was a witch with stringy, brown hair and a narrow, sunken face, holding a sign with her Azkaban Prison number printed across it. The headline below her pale, ghostlike face read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hogsmeade Witch Charged in Laethelixir Death of Two Children</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Harry blinked twice, wondering if he could possibly be reading the page correctly. The witch had to have been around the same age as Ron and himself. He opened up the paper to read below the fold, and felt his stomach drop for the second time that day. A small boy who couldn't have been much older than Teddy looked up at him from the page, his brown eyes large and inquisitive, a couple of teeth newly formed and protruding out from his gums like tiny, white candies. A young girl was pictured beside him, her unkempt hair making her look like a miniature version of her mother. Harry skimmed the story accompanying the pictures, learning that the father of these children had been one of the fallen aurors in the battle at Hogwarts, and the mother was trying to claim that her children had also been murdered by death eaters before the ministry had found her stash of the elixir in the apartment. She had been taken to the ministry for questioning, and was granted a life sentence almost immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I suppose we did," Harry said, handing the paper back to his friend. He felt as though he was going to be sick. The elevator lurched down a story to the Auror Department, and Harry grabbed the railing in the gilded lift to stabilize himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Reckon we'll have a hell of a training schedule ahead of us after this," Ron said, folding up the newspaper and putting it in the pocket of his robes. "They're not going to let us sleep until we've got every single one of these dealers behind bars,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead and trying to handle the waves of nausea that were passing over him like a storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You alright?" Ron asked, his face concerned. "You look sort of green."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I'm fine. Just... Didn't eat breakfast."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you want my chocolate? I'm not much feeling like eating now, anyways."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry offered his friend as genuine of a smile as he could muster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, Ron. Thanks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron had been right about the new training schedule; as soon as the two of them arrived in the auror department they were shooed into a large, rounded room where the rest of the aurors in the ministry had already been meeting. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in the center of the room, his long, violet robes making him stand out in the sea of ministry workers. He granted Harry and Ron a slight nod as they took their seats in the very back of the room next to Dean Thomas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What did we miss?" Ron whispered loudly to Dean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Laethelixir crackdown," Dean responded, pointing towards the chalkboard at the front of the room, upon which an enchanted piece of chalk was frantically scribbling down the key notes from Kingsley's presentation. "They're trying to confiscate what's out there, and then shut down the source."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great," Ron muttered, under his breath. "And we don't have any leads, do we?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A witch with blonde hair seated in front of them turned around and shushed Ron loudly. Dean shrugged in response, and both he, Harry and Ron focused their attention on the front of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As we have determined from the most recent round of investigations, there is now a small army of individuals distributing this product around the wizarding community. It's no longer contained to a shop as we had once believed. Our job as a department," he said, using his wand to pick up what looked like a large stack of pamphlets, and then distributing them out to the aurors, "Is to prevent this kind of tragedy from ever happening again." Harry and Ron looked at each other as the pamphlets made their way to the back row. On the front of the first page in bright, green font read "September Training Schedule". The page went on to outline all of the additional training exercises that the ministry would be implementing, including the new addition of a patrol rotation, in which the aurors were assigned to wizarding communities throughout the region with the goal of shutting down the spread of this potion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This," Kingsley said loudly over the chatter that was now spreading amongst the crowd, "Is what we found in the home of the most recent victims." He was holding up a thin book, which had been hollowed out on the inside to contain a small crevice into which a vial could be placed. "You will have to account for the distribution of this potion through creative means, and I must remind you to always remain on your guard." He took a deep breath, placing the book back down on the desk at the front of the room. "I think we can all say this is more of a threat than we first realized. It is up to us to eliminate it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron poked Harry hard in the side, pointing to the training schedule in his hand. "Harry, it says we train for 6 more hours today. We're stuck here every day until after dark!" He slumped back into his chair, his head turning up towards the ceiling. "I think Hermione was onto something," Ron muttered, shutting his eyes. "At this rate I'd rather be a student."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The training rooms were more crowded than Harry had ever seen them, some Aurors pouring over Muggle police reports for traces of leads that might have been missed initially, some of them practicing spellwork and agility training as he usually did on Tuesday afternoons. He followed Ron down the sloping stone hallway leading deeper underground into the simulation rooms, which is where they had been assigned to for the rest of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shut the large, wooden door behind them when they stepped into the darkened room listed on their training schedule. Harry looked around, noticing a couple other aurors he didn't recognize standing around the room as well. The trainer, who stood in his dark maroon robes at the center of the room, had biceps around the size of Harry's head, and a tight crew cut that emphasized the severity of his square jaw. Harry longed instantly for his own trainer, who understood his shortcomings and worked with him in an encouraging, constructive manner. He couldn't imagine that this man would give him the same attention or patience that Curtis did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, as soon as the last aurors had entered the room and all were accounted for, the trainer began explaining the simulation, which included "fire, water, and curses they had probably never heard before". Ron exchanged a daunting look with his friend, and then began to roll up the sleeves of his robes. Harry remained rooted to the spot, his nerves mingling with the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had felt since seeing the picture of the boy in the paper. He wanted to turn around and leave the room as soon as possible. He didn't know if he could handle any sort of simulation at the moment, much less one that sounded more difficult than anything he had done before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"On your marks," the trainer bellowed, as the aurors lined up at the start of the course. Ron was leaning forward, his jaw set and his body ready to spring into motion. Harry felt a fierce wave of admiration for his friend's determination to whatever obstacles were thrown their way in these training rooms. He was truly resilient enough for this job. These exercises were bringing out Ron's best qualities, while it seemed to only be showing Harry his weaknesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go!" At the trainer's words, the 12 aurors in the room began sprinting into the simulation, which was concealed initially by several feet of dense fog. Harry followed them into the clouded haze, his wand held firmly in front of him. He soon realized the fog was so thick he couldn't see any of the aurors around him, he only heard the sound of spells being fired and curses being blocked within the mist. He continued onward, his feet propelling him forward despite his fears of what lay around the corner. A curse shot past his ear as he ran, and Harry cast a deflecting spell over his shoulder for good measure. He continued to sprint through the room until he stepped in something wet on the cobblestone. He cast a quick lumos spell to light the path in front of him, and found a lake of water running through the middle of the course. He could see the other aurors swimming across to the other side, several of them emerging onto the opposite bank and continuing on. He performed a shield charm on himself, not knowing what the waters contained, and took a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water was frigid, certainly almost as cold as the frozen pond he had dived into when he was trying to retrieve the sword of Gryffindor. His illuminated wand outstretched, he held his head above the lake and began to swim through the waters. As soon as he had started swimming, he knew something was wrong. There was a coldness beginning to envelop him that had nothing to do with the freezing waters. He looked above the lake and noticed several dementors beginning to swarm overhead, their chilling cloaks and concealed faces making him feel a familiar, impending sense of dread. He knew he wouldn't be able to safely cast a patronus until he was on the other side of the lake. He made a decision to tuck his wand away and began to swim with all of his might, determined to reach the other side before the dementors got too close to the waters. He accelerated as fast as he could, using wide, overhead strokes to push himself forward, but he soon realized he wasn't going to be fast enough. The hooded figures were closing in on the room, and he could feel the terror of what was going to happen next before it even started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was in the castle and it was nearly midnight. The rubble from the destruction of the corridors mingled with the fallen bodies in the hallways, and everywhere he looked he saw dueling, spells being hurled every which way. He saw Fred's grinning, lifeless face, like he had seen so many times in his dreams. He saw the face of his professor, his father's old friend, a new father himself - the man who had cared about him enough to put his life on the line for Harry more times than he could count. He tried his best to suppress the memories, struggling to recall the good, happy thoughts he had practiced thinking of when learning to produce his first patronus. He thought of the Weasleys, of sitting around a roaring fire during the Christmas holidays and exchanging stories and gifts, and then realized he couldn't use this memory anymore - it was forever marred by Fred's death, and now his own guilt for what he had done to Ginny. He thought of broomsticks, of flying on the quidditch pitch back when he was in school, and remembered only the destruction and death that came with the war, all of which was his fault. The last thought that entered his mind was Malfoy's grey, longing eyes, and how they had looked right after Harry had kissed him. He thought of the taste of Malfoy's mouth, the moans Harry had elicited out of him, the memories that Harry usually recalled when he was feeling incurably, insatiably aroused in the middle of the night. The memory was like a lifeboat in the middle of freezing waters for Harry to cling to. He continued to press on, his breathing becoming shallow, choppier as he moved forward, using every bit of his strength to break through the water until, finally, his hand reached the cobblestone on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry pulled himself up onto the shore and quickly got to his feet, reaching for his wand so he could conjure a patronus and move past the dementors, who were now lingering just above the bank of the waters. He tried to recall the memory again, of his hands exploring Malfoy's body in his kitchen, but when he held his wand and tried to utter the spell, the memory faltered. Draco was leaving, the sound of his apparating filling the room, removing himself from the situation before they were given the opportunity to talk about what had just happened. Harry was alone, sitting in the study and wishing he had the courage to write to Malfoy. He was alone, sitting in the study and wishing he had said something different to Ginny, that he could do anything to repair their friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the dementors appeared to have sensed Harry's thoughts, and began to close in, drawing it's hooded head nearer to Harry's. Harry was yelling the spell now, trying as hard as he could to produce his stag, but only a flicker of blue light was issuing forth from the tip of his wand. He saw the young, innocent face of the boy in the paper again and then saw his godson, an orphan of the war, who would grow up wishing more than anything that he knew his parents, just as Harry had done. A silver terrier was conjured in the darkness, a patronus that quickly sprinted towards the two dementors looming over Harry's head, but it was already too late. Harry heard Ron yelling his name as he fell, tumbling backwards into the waters behind him, everything fading to black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Potter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked, jolting upright and realizing he was in the same, brightly-lit room he had found himself in several weeks ago, only instead of his trainer, Kingsley Shacklebolt was sitting in the desk chair facing Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What did I - what happened?" Harry asked, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table and quickly placing them back on his face. "Why am I here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kingsley took a breath, folding his hands in his lap and giving Harry his full attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Potter, I've been speaking with your trainer about these incidents, and I think you'll understand we're both a bit concerned about your... Performance in some of the more challenging training sessions you've encountered."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swallowed quickly, shaking his head at Kingsley's words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry, Kinglsey, I didn't mean to-" Kingsley held up a hand to silence Harry before he could say anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's no need to apologize, Potter. It's nothing you're doing wrong. If anything, this entire situation is an oversight on our part that could have been avoided, were the appropriate healing methods administered at the correct time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stared at Kingsley, getting the terrible, sinking feeling that this conversation was leading into something he had feared since he first started working in the Auror Department. Kingsley continued to speak, disregarding the panicked look that had crossed Harry's face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"War affects each of us in different ways, and we all heal from it in our own time. I know for you, it was more than just the battle at Hogwarts. It was those who lost their lives during the last four years, and the guilt you're bearing from their sacrifice. I think I was a bit too optimistic about how fast someone of your age could recover from tragedies of the magnitude that you have experienced."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stared at Kingsley, his eyes growing wider when he realized that he was about to lose his job. His lifeline, the only thing providing any structure or semblance of normality in his life was about to be taken away from him, just as quickly as it had been bestowed upon him after the war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kingsley, I'm 18 years old, and I can do this. I want to do this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was 22 years old after the first war. I'll be the first to tell you I was too young for the things I had seen. It was a long, painstaking process of recovery. The ghosts of the war followed me home and lingered far after some of my peers were moving on with their lives. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry ran a hand through his messy, black hair, Kingsley's words stinging him like needles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So what are you saying, exactly? Am I fired?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, not at all." The older man imparted an encouraging smile, recognizing Harry's anxiety about losing his position. "You have an excellent aptitude for this work, and I dare say you'll make one of the best aurors of your generation." Kingsley stood up, looking like he was about to head back to the training rooms once more. "I am, however, forcing you to take some time." He handed Harry a stack of papers that he withdrew from the desk in the room. "We have a ministry sanctioned healer at St. Mungo's who specializes in post traumatic stress disorders, and I've made arrangements for you to take the next several weeks off training so that you can get the help you need."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But what about the Laethelixir, what about all the training I'll miss while I'm gone?" Harry's head was spinning; he couldn't imagine being away from Ron, from his job for that amount of time. Even the thought of him sitting in his house by himself for longer than a week was making him start to feel nauseous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When you're ready, and I do mean really, truly ready, the healer will discharge you, and we can discuss the next steps in terms of reintegration and additional training. We'll have your spot saved here until then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stared at his hands, feeling an overwhelming sense of disappointment with himself at his inability to conquer his own demons. He felt embarrassed, and angry with himself, and clueless about how he was to spend an indefinite number of weeks without his job to focus on. As though Kingsley could read his thoughts, he put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's never any shame in asking for help, Potter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry couldn't bring himself to return home. It was only a bit after 2:00, and as he exited the ministry and began to walk down the muggle streets towards Trafalger Square, he couldn't stop thinking about the boy in the paper, and how much his face had reminded Harry of Teddy. They had the same large, hopeful eyes and plump, rosy cheeks, and it broke Harry's heart to think about the lethal consequences that the war had dealt to both of them. It had been several weeks since Harry had paid a visit to Andromeda and his godson, and the more he walked, the more he knew that was where he needed to go. He couldn't really go anywhere else - He needed some space from the probing questions Mrs. Weasley would ask him about Ginny, and everyone else he knew was either headed back to school or in the middle of work at the moment. Everyone except Draco, the voice in the back of his head whispered, but he quickly suppressed it. He hadn't written to Draco yet, and he wasn't even sure he was still in Diagon Alley. Besides, he didn’t know what he would say to Draco if he saw him, even if they did have the crutch of alcohol to make things a bit easier for them. There were too many feelings that he had not sorted through yet, and he needed more time before he felt comfortable facing Draco again. Fantasizing about kissing him in his kitchen was one thing, but seeing him in real life was entirely another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding that he would have to go somewhere that wasn’t home or the ministry, he stepped into an alley between two brick buildings and disapparated, picturing the small farmhouse that Andromeda had once shared with Ted Tonks, which she now inhabited with her grandson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind was much stronger in the countryside than it had been in London, and as Harry approached the front garden of the house he shivered inside his robes, which were still slightly damp from the water in the training exercise. He knocked on the front door, hearing the distant sound of a child wailing from inside the house. Andromeda came to the door after a few moments with his five month old godson on her hip, and smiled as soon as she saw Harry. The more he had gotten to know her over the past several months, the sillier he felt for ever comparing her to her older sister when he had first seen her. Her soft brown eyes were filled with kindness, and although she was still grieving the loss of her husband and only daughter, she always made time for Harry whenever he was able to visit. She pulled him into a hug as soon as she saw him. Teddy had stopped crying, and was reaching curiously for Harry's glasses as soon as he had noticed his godfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda invited Harry in for tea, which turned out to be exactly what he was needing at the moment. They sat around the square table in the kitchen, Harry holding Teddy in his lap to give the boy's grandmother a bit of a rest. Teddy kept trying to pull off Harry's glasses, until Harry finally took them off and gave them to the child to keep him occupied for a moment. Andromeda laughed as Teddy promptly began slobbering on the earpiece of the glasses, and Harry smiled, letting his godson continue to explore the strange contraption he wore on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How have you been doing lately?" Harry asked once they had a couple cups of tea and biscuits between them on the table. "Have you been able to leave the house much?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andromeda shook her head, smiling slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not much. Every now and then Molly will come over to watch him so I can shower or sleep as long as I need to, but it's mostly just been the two of us." She pinched Teddy's bare toe lightly, and Teddy grinned toothlessly at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry I haven't been ‘round as much as I should have been," Harry said, taking a sip of his mint tea with his free hand. "It's been... A hard couple of months."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can imagine," Andromeda said, giving Harry a pained, sympathetic look. "How has training been for you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got suspended today," Harry said, grinning in spite of himself. "For medical reasons. They're having me see a healer at St. Mungo's before I can continue."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know,” Andromeda said, offering him another biscuit from the table, “It's not as ridiculous as it sounds.” She surely had been able to sense his incredulity at the decision. "Often times the first thing that starts to go when you're struggling with trauma is your magical ability."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can still do basic spells and stuff like that, I'm not entirely useless..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What about your patronus? Have you been able to conjure it as easily as you used to?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked, remembering the instance earlier that day with the dementors in the water. He had blamed that particular problem on the dementors, but when he thought about it, he hadn’t struggled with his patronus like this since his third year at Hogwarts. In fact, he couldn't remember producing one at all since the war had ended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did you know -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dora went through the same thing," She said, and Harry suddenly remembered Tonks after his fifth year at Hogwarts, when Bellatrix had killed Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. She was solemn, her appearance remaining the same for once in her life, always looking like she was on the verge of tears. Harry hadn't really given much thought to what she must have been experiencing until now. "She couldn't conjure a patronus for the longest time, and when she did it had changed entirely," Andromeda said. Harry could tell she enjoyed talking about her daughter, even though the memories brought the fresh pain of her absence with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think I may be having a bit of the same problem," he said candidly. Teddy was now beating his glasses against the table again and again, making Andromeda laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I struggled with it myself, actually," she said, taking the glasses from her grandson and performing a cleansing charm on them before handing them back to Harry. "Tonks was born in the middle of the first wizarding war, and for what felt like months, I couldn't bring myself to do anything but sleep and eat and try my best to keep her alive. I couldn't have done magic if I had tried."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What did you do?" Harry asked, finally adjusting the glasses back on his face. “How did you get out of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I had help. From Ted, and Molly and Arthur, and Frank and Alice and the other families we were close with. It was a matter of finding my own way to push through the darkness, so I could be strong for Dora."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry felt more guilt than he thought he had felt in ages, but reminded himself that Andromeda didn't blame him, that nobody in the wizarding world held him responsible for the deaths that had taken place during the war. Teddy squeezed his finger with his small, chubby hands, and Harry couldn't help but smile at the boy. There were so many people that Harry needed to be strong for, and it was good to have a reminder that there were still people who depended on him. It gave him a newly bolstered sense of purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He looks so much like her, doesn't he?" Harry asked. Andromeda nodded, beaming at her grandson. “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s like her in so many ways.” She suppressed a large yawn behind her teacup, which didn't go unnoticed by Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you need to rest, I can watch him for a bit," Harry offered. In truth, he got along very well with Teddy, and didn't mind spending time with him at all. He had so much of his parents in him already, and it helped Harry miss them a little less whenever he could spend time with the boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wouldn't be a bother?" Andromeda asked. Harry shook his head, picking up the child under his arms and swinging him overhead, making Teddy giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would be so grateful," she said, taking her saucer over to the sink. "If you wouldn't mind changing him too, everything is back in his playroom. She came over and kissed the top of Teddy's head, which had a couple strands of brownish blonde hair already. Harry had never seen it himself, but had heard that Teddy's hair changed colors from time to time, just as his mother's had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, Harry," she sighed, sounding exhausted now that the possibility of sleep was on the horizon for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't mention it," Harry grinned, bringing Teddy into his playroom, which had flying quidditch players soaring across the wallpaper. He set Teddy down in front of his toys, amusing the child with his stuffed animals and playthings until Teddy began to rub his eyes himself, and Harry put him down in his crib for a nap. He spent a couple minutes perusing the bookshelf in the playroom, which he was realizing now must have been Tonks's old room. There were old school books stacked up on the shelves, and Harry grinned as he picked up a copy of "A History of Magic", which he didn't think he had ever opened at school, despite Hermione's nagging. Tonks's name was scribbled inside the front cover, and it made Harry feel closer to her. He sat in the large armchair in the room, flipping through the pages and listening to the soft, steady rhythm of Teddy's breathing as the boy fell asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one is a rough one, guys. Major content warnings for graphic sexual content, lots of foul language, and a suicide attempt. I swear it gets much lighter after this chapter, but if any of the above items are not things you are wanting to have in your life, feel free to skip right over this chapter. No hard feelings, and the ones to follow will probably be more fun for you anyways! Thanks for reading, as always!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>September, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hog's Head was more crowded than Draco had expected it to be on a Monday afternoon, and as he walked into the dingy pub he had to scan the room a couple times before he saw the tall, burly man in the corner with whom he had planned to meet. There were two large bodyguards flanking either side of him, one of them surly-looking and balding with bright, eerily blue eyes, and the other with biceps that looked to be around the size of Draco’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had only seen Regis Delev once before, when the man had been pointed out to him by another one of the distributors in Hogsmeade. Even then Draco had felt shivers down his spine when he noticed the man's stature; his commanding physical presence was almost as intimidating as the power he held within the black market community. He towered nearly a foot over Draco's head, with long, dark hair falling to his shoulders and three, white scars over his left eye, leaving him with half of an eyebrow. In addition to this, his brawny, massive arms were covered with faded tattoos, most of them symbols and languages Draco didn't understand. Draco had sent him a letter requesting a meeting in the middle of August, and he had returned the correspondence weeks later, suggesting Draco meet him at the pub after his rounds that day.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco met Delev in the back corner booth, the two men on either side of Delev parting to allow Draco to take a seat. His hands were trembling in his lap under the table, and he hoped Delev hadn't noticed the pallor of his already stark white skin. He ordered a pint when the bartender came by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're Lucius's son, aren't you?" Delev bellowed, his voice just as gruff as Draco had imagined it would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You knew my father?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delev grunted in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never ran in the same circles. He was much too focused on that death eater nonsense for my taste."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco swallowed, lowering his head and staring again at his hands. He had begun to squeeze his knees until his knuckles turned white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're doing well," Delev said, taking a large swig of his drink. "You're getting more product out than most of my distributors who have been working three times as long as you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I need an advance," Draco said abruptly, still not making eye contact with Delev, even after the words had tumbled out of his mouth. He took a deep breath, and continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My mother's dying, I can't afford to stay in an inn with her bills, and my family's estate is being held by the ministry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delev set his glass down on the wooden table a bit harder than Draco had been expecting him to, and Draco flinched noticeably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We've all got sad stories, now, don't we, boy?" He said slowly. Draco finally looked up, and to his surprise, there was a smile on Delev's face. He immediately felt sick to his stomach, wishing he had never arranged this meeting in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's just until the ministry turns everything back over. Once I have everything back I'll pay you twice the amount I borrowed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delev leaned forward a bit at the table, bringing his large forearms to rest on the wooden surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a faggot, aren't you?" He asked in a conversational tone, the same unnerving smile making his features a thousand times more menacing. Draco immediately flushed, turning his head around to see if anyone had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Delev’s bodyguards didn’t seem to react in any way, although they were clearly within earshot. He couldn't tell why this man was bringing up anything about his sexual orientation, especially when he had just been asking to borrow money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I'm not -" He stuttered, but Delev continued, dismissing his attempt to save face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't bother denying it, I've seen you in the papers. Besides..." he said, beginning to swirl his index finger around the outer rim of his glass. "I like the pretty ones."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked down into his lap again, sure that his face must be on fire. He had the same feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had last year whenever Voldemort ordered him to torture the prisoners being held in the dungeons of the manor. It was like a creeping, black cloud that was slowly spreading to all of his organs. He thought he was going to be sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you're serious about the money," Delev continued, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a scrap of parchment and scribbling a hasty address upon it. "Meet me at my hotel at 11. I'd love to continue our conversation."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he left the paper in front of Draco's drink, and departed with his two massive bodyguards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked around once more, trying to ensure that nobody had caught any of the conversation that had just taken place. There didn't appear to be any overly attentive individuals staring towards his table, but he knew better than to let his guard down. He closed his eyes briefly, trying not to think about what Delev had said, and wondering if there was any other possible way around this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could run, he supposed. He could find Bennett again, and the two of them could go to America like Bennett had always been talking about, only he couldn't bear to just leave his mother to die alone in St. Mungo's. He thought about staying here and hiding, quitting his job and laying low for a bit, but the problem still remained that he needed money to keep his mother alive and to afford a place for himself to stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed money, and there were only a couple of ways he could get it. Rather than begging that his aunt help front the cost of her estranged sister's medical bills, Draco could swallow his discomfort and do whatever he needed to do to procure his advance. It would only be a couple of hours, at the most. Two hours sacrificed to extend his mother's life and keep himself alive was a trade he was willing to make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left a few Sickles on the table for the drinks, and headed out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco found himself walking the cobbled streets around the Hog's Head aimlessly for a while, lost in thought. Hogwarts was looming in the distance over the thatched roofs of the stores and houses in the main square, which was one of the reasons he always liked making rounds in Hogsmeade. It reminded him of happier days, times when he was young and carefree and could devote his full attention to making Harry Potter miserable. He had found, even then, that the adrenaline rush he felt whenever Harry scowled at him or quipped back with a witty retort was well worth the effort it took to find a million new ways to push his buttons. He thought of the time, after losing one of their Quidditch matches in fifth year, when Draco had pushed him too far and Harry had punched him square in the face. It was a shocking realization, that his constant badgering actually had an effect on Potter, that he had really managed to get under Harry’s skin. Draco had walked around with a bruise on his face for the next two weeks, even though he could have healed it simply himself, just because he liked the thought of Potter leaving a visible mark on his face. It made the game he was playing feel all the more real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of spending his days laughing with Crabbe and Goyle and cracking jokes about the professors in the back of classrooms filled him with another wave of sadness. He didn't feel like he was even the same person who had strutted around the corridors, picking on first years and vexing Potter at every given opportunity. The war had taken all of that from him, and left him here alone, an empty shell with only his memories left to cling to. It didn't matter what Delev wanted to do to him tonight; he hadn't felt like he was really living in months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought of Potter again, as he did more and more nearly every day, and wished that he had stayed when Potter had kissed him. He wished his fear hadn't gotten the best of him, and he wished he didn't have to walk through this part of his life alone. He could have had so much better than this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two men who had been at the Hog’s Head with Delev waited in front of the long hallway to Delev’s hotel room, letting Draco pass through when he approached. He knocked on the door of the room number scribbled on the parchment he was holding, his heart racing in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had done his best to prepare himself for whatever might happen tonight. He had gone on a long walk to clear his head, taken a couple shots of firewhiskey in the Three Broomsticks and combed his hair so it looked as neat and well-kempt as possible. When the door opened, however, he felt the same, sinking sensation that he had when he had first laid eyes on Delev in the beginning of July. He stepped into the room slowly, realizing instantly that this must be one of the most luxurious suites in all of London. The ceilings were vaulted and adorned with gilded, golden figures; the floors polished until they were nearly reflective, and the furniture was accented with the same hints of gold that echoed all throughout the room. There was a massive, four poster bed with blue velvet drapings that stood towards the back wall. It was a palace fit for a king, and Draco felt himself growing more uneasy in this place by the second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have a drink," Delev commanded, pouring Draco a glass of whiskey at the bar towards the front of the room. Draco obliged, tossing the whiskey down his throat without hesitation. The thought occurred to him after he had swallowed the drink that it definitely could have been drugged, but this notion was more comforting than anything at this point. He wanted to remember as little about this night as possible, and wasn't opposed to having this recollection taken from him entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Leave your wand on the counter," Delev ordered again, taking a swig of whiskey himself and walking over to the back of the room. Draco obeyed, wishing he had drank a little more at the Three Broomsticks before this. Draco set down his empty whiskey class and followed Delev over to the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How much money are we talking?" Delev asked, finishing up the rest of his glass as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"150 Galleons," Draco replied quickly, still averting his eyes from Delev's. He had done the math, and that much money would buy him about a month of time. Surely the ministry would finish up their investigation by the time October rolled around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's a lot of money, boy," Delev grunted. Draco's heart skipped a beat in it's chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm good for it. I've been building my client base, I'll have it earned back in just a couple weeks, and I can pay you back when -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Enough," Delev said loudly, interrupting Draco's words. Draco lifted his eyes to meet Delev's black ones, and felt his stomach drop once more. "You're earning it now," Delev growled, bringing a rough hand up to Draco's head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kissed Draco hard, bringing the younger man's body into his own before Draco had a chance to say anything else. His breath was sour and his mouth tasted of barley; Draco found himself wishing again for unconsciousness as he let Delev's tongue explore his own. He followed the man's lead, being as enthusiastic as he could muster, all the while picturing himself in any other situation but this. Delev grabbed his hair by the roots and pushed him roughly down on his knees, slapping his cheek and muttering something about him being a "good little slut" before shoving himself fully into Draco's mouth. Draco squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, trying to focus on something that brought him any sort of happiness. He thought of Bennett's gentle hands on his body, of his soothing words and his respect for Draco, always asking what it was that Draco wanted to do, never making him feel taken advantage of. He thought of Potter's smile that had been haunting him for the last couple of months, about how good it would feel to kiss him, or to just be in his presence again. Delev's hands pulled his hair so hard that tears welled up in his eyes, and he was beginning to choke on the length of the larger man's member. He kept himself as relaxed as he could, refusing to let the tears fall, and continued on, the thought of Potter giving him enough strength to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco awoke the next day in the unfamiliar velvet covered bed, realizing instantly that this had not been a nightmare, that what had happened last night was very, very real. It started to come back to him as soon as he was awake and he shuddered to himself, trying to forget what he had been forced to do. Every part of his body was aching and sore, bruising covering most of the skin he could see on his arms and legs. He was alone in the room, which he was grateful for; Delev must have not waited for him before starting his day. He stood up, feeling a fresh wave of pain between his legs, and began to walk over to the bar cart where Delev had kept the whiskey from last night. After a couple, long pulls straight from the bottle, Draco was finally starting to feel numb again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a copy of the Daily Prophet on the bar cart and Draco glanced at it inquisitively; something about the woman on the front cover of the paper seemed familiar to him. He picked the paper up, reading the headline of the article and the pictures that came with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a cold chill wash over his body, and dropped the paper instantly. He ran as fast as he could to the lavatory and wretched over the toilet, getting rid of the whiskey he had just drunk and then dry heaving for the next several minutes until he could make sure that everything was out of his system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood up, hyperventilating, and tried to get his bearings. He had done this - he had killed those children. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't do anything but stand there and try to gasp for his breath. He had to leave here as soon as possible, before Delev got back. He had to get out of this business, to get rid of his inventory and find a way out of this trap before something else happened - something worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed that tears were streaming down his face as he tried to catch his breath, and he couldn't do anything to stop them. He picked up his clothes by the bed and began to dress himself as best as he could. He had to get out of this place, this life...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed his wand from the counter. There was a hefty sized bag of galleons that Delev had placed on the counter for him as well, but he left it behind. He would have to find another way; there was no possibility of him continuing on in this job. Focusing all of his strength and determination on the location he had in mind, knowing the consequence of him splinching himself again was always a real possibility, Draco disapparated from the room in London, leaving this terrible memory behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't been out to the countryside where his aunt lived since he was a little boy. His mother had taken him here a couple times without his father's knowledge; She and her sister had a complicated relationship, but Draco remembered times when both of them would put aside their differences and be there for each other, just as they had been when they were children. The last time he remembered was when his grandmother, Druella, had passed away. Draco had only met her a couple of times, but when she had died, Narcissa brought Draco over to her sister's house and the two grieved together, sharing memories and stories like nothing between them had changed. Narcissa had told Draco not to share anything about that day with his father, as his aunt and uncle were not supposed to be on speaking terms with their family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw the old cottage surrounded by rolling, green hills, and was transported back to being a 7-year-old boy whose sole focus was comforting his mother in her loss. He never thought he would have come back here, but as he walked towards the house, he felt the comfort of the familiar landscape like a warm embrace. He wiped the tears away from his eyes as best as he could, and patted his hair down to look as presentable as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked, and was greeted at the door by Andromeda, an astonished look on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, what are you doing here?" She asked, looking past his shoulder as though she expected someone else to be there. Her dark hair was frizzy and unkempt but her eyes were so much like his mother's he had to swallow hard to keep himself from tears again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"May I come in?" he asked politely. She looked behind her into the house briefly and nodded, motioning him into the kitchen. The place was messier than he had remembered it, and it wasn't until he saw the scattered toys all over the living room that he remembered; Lupin's son, Draco's new nephew, must have had to come live with his grandmother after the war. The thought was too much for him to dwell on at the moment, with what he had just seen in the paper. He swallowed hard, and reminded himself to stay focused on the task at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry to just show up without warning," he began slowly. Andromeda was standing expectantly and clearly needing him to explain his presence so she could understand why he had come here. "I need help. My mother, she's dying and I don't have the money to keep her alive much longer." His aunt's expression softened, her eyes filling with sorrow. It seemed as though she must have known Narcissa was sick, but didn't know anything about the scope of her illness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I need somewhere to stay for a bit. I can work, I can tend the field and do whatever you need help with, I just... I'm stuck and I don't think I can get out without your help." Draco took a deep breath. He didn't think he had ever subjugated himself this much, or depended on someone else's kindness in this way. It was a humbling act, but he didn't have any pride left to hold onto.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His aunt opened her mouth, blinking several times as though she were deep in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco I - I didn't know it was... What happened to her? When did she -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice was not Andromeda's, and it came from the hallway leading into the kitchen. Draco looked up instantly, not believing what he had heard until he saw Harry standing in the kitchen, wearing the white, collared shirt and well-fitting pants that went underneath his auror training robes. He was taller, more muscular, and more handsome than Draco had ever seen him. His hair was cut better than it had been in their school days, and he now had a light beard which drew all of Draco's attention to his bespectacled, green eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shock of seeing Potter in this house quickly subsided, and Draco realized in absolute horror that Harry had heard what Draco had just asked his aunt. He was wrong - he did have some pride left to lose. It took everything in his power to keep from apparating on the spot and leaving this place behind without as much as another word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing here?" Draco said quickly, his cheeks flushing when he spoke to Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harry's been giving me a hand with Teddy," Andromeda said immediately, quick to defend Harry's presence. "He's been a great help over here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How much did you -" Draco began to ask Harry, who was now looking extremely uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I already knew. About your mum. I'm sorry," Harry said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked from Harry to his aunt and back again, and felt the betrayal of what Harry had just said begin to sink beneath his skin. The tears were beginning to well up in his eyes again - he had to get out of here as soon as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thanked his aunt for her time quickly and opened the front door again, striding into the front garden and getting ready to apparate to the inn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, wait!" Harry called after him, running outside to catch him before he left. Draco ignored him and just kept walking forward, trying his best to keep the tears from falling in front of Potter. He didn't turn around until Harry had grabbed his shoulder and called his name again. He looked into Harry's eyes, and realized that the pain that he was feeling right now was greater than anything he had felt when he was with Delev the night before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You knew about my parents," Draco said slowly, "about my mum, and the ministry, about everything that was happening, and you kissed me and then avoided me like the plague for three, fucking months?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked taken aback; clearly he had not thought about his actions from Draco's point of view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco I didn't - I didn't know any of that when I kissed you. I'm sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pulled himself out of Harry's grasp and began to keep walking, trying to summon up the strength to apparate again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, stop.” Harry said, following him as he walked. “I tried writing, I just couldn’t sort through what to say to you.... And besides, you kissed me back! And you left! You left... and you didn't say anything, and I didn't think you wanted anything to do with me after that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was scared!" Draco said, raising his voice in response to Potter's accusation. "I didn't know what to do, and I'd been seeing someone at the time, and I didn't want to hurt anyone more than necessary."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that's rich," Harry said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "How do you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>felt when you just up and vanished without another word? Without even an explanation? I'd never kissed a bloke before, and you just left me standing in the kitchen wondering what I had done wrong — I hardly spoke to anyone for weeks after that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is a little more complicated than your fragile sexuality, Potter."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry ignored his comment and proceeded, following Draco through the garden so he couldn't just apparate and escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have waited. I should have written to you. It just... It was a lot for me to process."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well you processed it rather quickly, didn't you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry arched an eyebrow, taking a step away from Draco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's that supposed to mean?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The Weasley girl. You were back with her in less than a month. I saw you two in Diagon Alley."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, so you were following me?" Harry said, his expression growing more incredulous by the minute. "You're sounding more and more like a jealous schoolgirl..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wasn’t following you. I live there, Potter," Draco spat, the tears now completely gone from his eyes as anger began to course through his veins. "Because your ministry took my house, and my family, and my inheritance, and everything I had just to punish me for what my father did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You mean for being a death eater?" Harry responded, raising his voice to match Draco's as he began to lose his patience. "For wanting all of the Muggleborns dead? For trying to deliver me straight to Voldemort on a silver platter?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck you. I've been through enough for him, I don't need your lecture right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell me I'm wrong! Tell me you wouldn't have turned me over to your precious dark lord when given the first opportunity."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took a step towards Harry this time, challenging him to say something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was given thousands of opportunities." Draco said, his tone now cool and his voice steady. "Don't you dare tell me what I would have done with your life. I’m not my father, I didn't want him to win any more than you did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Could have fooled me with that dark mark on your arm."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flinched internally at the reference to his tattoo; he didn’t think Harry had ever seen it before, and he wondered how he knew it was there. He took great care to keep that particular artifact of the war a secret. The only time he even exposed it to himself was late at night after a couple glasses of bourbon, when he pressed a cursed dagger he had gotten from his aunt’s old things into the dark, inky skin there, drawing crimson beads of blood to the surface. It had become a routine of his, a release of the pressures that had built up within him throughout the day, and he looked forward to the dark hours where he could sit in isolation, relishing in the pain he was producing. Over the past couple months, the scars had defaced the skull on his arm so that it hardly looked like the same marking, but there was no way he had found yet to fully erase it from his body. It lingered now like a ghost from his past that he was ashamed to show in the daylight. It was cruel of Potter to address it, to make a mockery of his sins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco clenched his wand in his fist, bringing it between Harry and himself. Harry stared at it, as if daring Draco to try something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco would have given anything to have been in this situation a month ago. He and Harry were less than a foot away from each other, both of them breathing heavily and staring intensely into each other’s eyes, but it wasn’t at all what he wanted now. All he could feel at this moment was rage -- some of it targeted towards Harry, but most of it towards himself. He couldn’t undo the mistakes he had made, and if history had taught him anything, it was that the only way to make his problems disappear was to hide from them. Every time he tried to do anything differently, a new skeleton in his closet would emerge and rear its ugly head, forcing him into a battle he was too tired to fight. He deserved to suffer; he deserved to be alone right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't know the half of what I've been through, Potter. It wasn’t simple at all, I didn’t have a choice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked again at the wand in Draco's hand, probably wondering if he was planning on actually using it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"People can make choices, Draco. You just let your parents' decisions unfold your life for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco nearly laughed at Harry's comment in light of the current situation. Harry had no idea the scope of Draco's decisions, especially the ones that had led him to the grave he was digging for himself now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's easy for you to say, Potter. Your parents are war heroes who were dead before you could even speak. You don’t know what it’s like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry placed his hand over Draco's clenched fist, lowering Draco's wand from its position on Harry’s chest. Draco didn't feel much like resisting the movement, and, in spite of everything that was happening, he relished in the feeling of Harry's skin touching his own. It was warmer than he had expected, and jolted him back again to that morning in June, when they had abandoned their pride and surrendered to the raw passion that had always been resting right beneath the surface of every argument they had shared, waiting for someone to bid it forth. Draco looked back into Harry’s eyes, wondering if the scene was going to organically recreate itself, if Harry was thinking the same thing that he was. The cool wind whipped at their faces and whistled through the trees that surrounded the cottage, and for a moment he felt himself getting lost in Harry’s bright green eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco,” Harry said finally, after what felt like several lifetimes had passed. “I know you’re punishing me for what happened to your parents, and what...happened between us, but you were never alone then, and you’re not alone now, either. I would have helped you if you had just -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare. Don’t say what you would have done differently, you spent every waking moment of that year trying to expose me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry pressed his hand more firmly over Draco’s, both of them still clutching Draco’s wand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you had just told Dumbledore what was going on, we could have protected you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco narrowed his eyes spitefully, glancing again down at their hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You couldn’t have protected me from Voldemort. He would have killed me and my whole family before you even realized what had happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was never too late, Draco."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dracto took that moment to whip his hand away from Harry’s, not knowing how much longer he could bear thinking about that year, or the things he should have done differently before the war. At this point, there were too many regrets for him to even list in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it is now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco broke away from Harry, giving him a last, fleeting glance and turned towards the garden once more, beginning to walk away until he could get away from Harry's reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, wait - don't leave -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before he had heard the rest of what Harry had to say, Draco had clenched the wand again in his hand and used it to transport himself away from the cottage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbled a little upon apparating into Diagon Alley, and the realization that he hadn't eaten anything in the last couple of days hit him like a ton of bricks. He had grown so used to the gnawing pain in his stomach that he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with hunger anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pair of witches shopping together stopped in the street to give him a strange look as he grabbed onto the wall of the Leaky Cauldron for stability. He must have been quite a sight, all skin and bones and sunken eyes, stumbling his way through the street in broad daylight.. he averted his gaze from them and continued on, swallowing another wave of nausea that welled up in the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn't have said those things at the house. He shouldn't have left again before letting Potter say his final piece, but he couldn't let Harry talk any more about how things might have been better now if Draco had acted differently - It was almost too painful for him to imagine the possibilities of what might have been. He couldn't dwell any longer in that state of regret, all the while mourning the place where he had ended up. The only person he didn't have to push out of his life anymore was his mother, because she was dying in the hospital already, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. As he staggered up the stairs past the usual, Tuesday afternoon crowd and into his room, the feeling dawned on him that he had finally reached the end of his rope. He had done everything possible to fuck up the only good things in life that he had. He was a coward, a prostitute, and now a murderer - he had managed to turn everyone in his life against him. There couldn't possibly be any coming back from this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached into his desk drawer for his whiskey, feeling already more numb than he usually did after a couple of tumblers in. It was strangely comforting, knowing that he didn't have any more pain after this. He didn't know what was on the other side, but he knew it had to be better than this wretched excuse for a life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled out three scraps of parchment from his old school trunk, which sat in the corner of the room. He at least owed an explanation to those who would hear about his death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter's voice was ringing in his ears as he wrote the words, scrawling and drinking whiskey and then pouring the first shot of Laethelixir into his glass. The euphoria was unbelievable - instantly he was hurled into waves of pleasure more intense than the best physical high he had ever experienced. He began to write faster, letting the words spill out onto his parchment, his brain feeling powerful and wonderful and so, so happy... He smiled with the second vial he poured into his cup, and then the third. He thought of Potter's face, of how his green eyes had lit up when they had first seen Malfoy in his aunt’s kitchen. Despite everything that he had said, he remembered the surge of joy, the butterflies he felt in the pit of his stomach upon seeing Harry’s face. Recalling the sensation brought a strange sense of comfort, a feeling of nostalgia for a home that was not his to return to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was ironic, he thought to himself as he felt his brain slipping from consciousness after the seventh glass, that this was as alive as he could remember feeling in his whole life.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>September, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of Draco disapparating rang in Harry's ears like a gunshot, echoing and reverberating in his head several moments after Draco had gone. The look Draco had given him right before he had disappeared was imprinted upon Harry's brain in a way he would not soon forget; the utter rejection and defeat evident in his expression made Harry want to abandon all else and follow him to wherever he decided he needed to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt immediate remorse for the words he had spoken, for quarreling like a child with Draco in light of everything that was happening in the other man's life at the moment. It was as though he had been transported back to his days at Hogwarts, when he would spar with Malfoy in the halls at every given opportunity, when Harry would go to any measures necessary to protect his pride. The guilt he was now feeling reminded him that he had acted no differently than that today. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to soothe his frustration, fighting back his urge to punch the nearest brick wall he could find. He took a moment to let himself calm down, distancing his mind from the argument that had just taken place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple of silent moments had passed, he began to walk back towards the cottage, hoping that Andromeda wouldn't be too concerned about the way they had both rushed out of the house without so much as an explanation. As he turned around, he realized to his utter humiliation that he had left the front door open, that the fight in the front garden was no longer a private affair. He stepped back into the house, shutting the door gently behind him and raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Andromeda.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry about that," He said, running a hand through his hair and puffing his cheeks out in embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She remained seated at the table, the cup of tea she had poured when Harry had first arrived still resting on its saucer in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Teddy seemed to sleep right through it, nothing to apologize for," she said, smiling reassuringly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry sat down across from her at the table, letting out a deep sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's hurting," she said, turning her teacup idly to have something to do with her hands. "With his mother and everything else going on - he's just lashing out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded again, not knowing how to respond, but sure that she had to be right about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, but I still shouldn't have -" he began, but the words got lost in his throat before he could form them. He wished he could just take back the last ten minutes of his life and have been a bit kinder, a bit more understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence fell between them for a moment, and Harry was grateful for it. Just having someone else in the room who could listen and not offer advice or judgment of any kind was a refreshing change from what he was used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his head, and saw that Andromeda was looking at him kindly from across the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He has feelings for you," Andromeda said, sipping her tea slowly. "The way he looked at you when he realized you were here...it was as though you two were the only people on earth."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well he has a funny way of showing it," Harry muttered, sipping a bit of his own lukewarm tea and trying to calm himself down. He was grateful for Andromeda's emission of the topic of Harry's sexuality. She seemed to understand that his attraction to Draco was not a conscious decision on his part, and her reassurance that this wasn't all in his head was a comfort to him as he began to get his footing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He needs time," she said. "I think you both need to be able to heal from everything that's happening first."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded slowly in response, staring off into space and still deep in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you care about him?" Andromeda asked, catching him off guard. He blinked a couple times, surprised by the forwardness of her question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Er... yeah. Yeah, I think I do." He could feel his ears turning red, but he tried to ignore this and focus on the matter at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should find him," She said, offering him another encouraging smile. "I feel as though he shouldn't be alone right now,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, you're probably right," he said, getting up from the table and fetching his auror robes from where he had hung them in the hallway. "Will you be okay with Teddy for a bit? I can come back afterwards if you need me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll be fine. Go." She smiled again at Harry. As he began to leave, he promised himself that he would try to be here more often from now on. He would hardly have anything else going on now, anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diagon Alley was less crowded than it usually was when Harry visited, and Harry had to remind himself that it was the middle of a workday, and not everyone had the luxury of dropping by the Leaky Cauldron to grab a pint at three in the afternoon. He walked into the building to find a couple of middle aged, tired-looking wizards nursing glasses filled with an amber brown liquid, and Tom, the barman, in his usual state of shuffling behind the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oi, Potter!" he exclaimed when he saw Harry wander in. "Fancy a shot of Firewhiskey? It's on the house."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiled, as he always did when he was offered a credit in a bar. People never tired of flooding upon him their material possessions for his service in the wizarding war. It usually irritated him to an extent - he was so tired of being recognized and applauded everywhere he went - but he tried to remember that they were acting out of gratitude, and not purposefully trying to draw attention to him. As much as he would have loved to stay at the bar and drink until he could no longer feel the debilitating apprehension for the conversation that awaited him upstairs, he figured he would save this offer for another time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, don't think I can today," he said, glancing up the staircase and thinking of the last time he had met Ginny here for a drink, how different of a situation it had been at that time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tom, which room is Draco Malfoy in?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tom exhaled loudly, rolling his eyes in response to Harry's question. "He's up in 12, at the end of the hall. He went up there a bit ago. But you can tell him he won't be here next week if he doesn't pay off his tab. I've got no interest in floating him for the next three months with that erratic payment plan of his."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, thanks. I'll tell him." Harry replied, wondering idly how deep of a hole Malfoy had managed to dig himself into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began to climb the rickety, wooden stairs, remembering the summer that he had stayed in this inn before his third year at Hogwarts, how he always used to bound up this staircase after exploring the shops all day and eating a full meal downstairs each evening. The hallway still smelled the same, of aged wood and musty linens. He would have given almost anything to go back to being a bright-eyed thirteen year old now, when his biggest concern was worrying that he wouldn't get enough practice in to lead Gryffindor to victory in Quidditch that semester. Sirius was still alive, as were Remus, and Tonks, and Fred, and Dumbledore. With the passing of each consecutive year, Harry was only reminded of how much he had lost with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry reached Draco's door at the end of the hallway and knocked gently, waiting for a response. The sound of a mouse squeaked from somewhere down the hall, and the clink of bar glasses drifted faintly up the stairs. He heard nothing but silence on the other side of the door. There were no footsteps, no aggravated commands for him to piss off. He tried knocking again, this time a bit louder, and then tried the door handle. It was locked. He pulled out his wand and performed a quick Alohomora charm, but to no avail. Draco must have used a protected lock on the other side of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was possible, Harry supposed, that Tom may have missed Draco leaving the inn again, that maybe he wasn't here at all. He could have been any number of places, Harry thought, perhaps at the hospital, or off with whatever person he had been "seeing" in June when he had first knocked on Harry's door. The more he thought about it, however, the more he wondered where else Draco would have to go, if he had resorted to paying an estranged family member a visit in exchange for lodging. What with the argument they had just had, and with Draco's last, somewhat ominous words spoken to Harry, he had to at least know that Draco was safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After not receiving a response again, Harry cast a quick muffliato charm in the hallway so that he wouldn't be overheard by anyone downstairs, then gripped the door handle and shoved with his shoulder as hard as he could. The ancient door gave way after only a couple tries, and he stumbled into the dimly-lit room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stacks of books lining the walls and piled on the floor caught his attention immediately. He noticed a couple of these books lying open on the desk, the middle spliced out to contain an indentation about 4 inches wide. Harry's heart sank like an anchor when he realized what had just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no, no, no," He muttered, his eyes darting frantically around the room, the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He rounded a corner into the lavatory and with a jolt of horror found Draco there, slumped against a wall, not appearing to be breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swore loudly, quickly kneeling by Draco's side and gripping his wrist to make sure he was alive. His skin was like ice against Harry's fingertips, but Harry could still feel the faint pulse of a heartbeat pumping blood through his veins. There had to still be time; he couldn't let Malfoy's life end like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry scrambled back into the room with all of Malfoy's belongings and stacks of Laethelixir, finding his school trunk in the corner and beginning to dig through its contents in a panicked surge of adrenaline. He had been in a similar situation before, he remembered. When Ron had taken the poisoned mead in Slughorn's office, he had been able to save Ron's life mostly out of luck - He was able to administer the Bezoar he had found in Slughorn's potion ingredients just in time. Harry wasn't naive enough to expect the same luck twice in a row, but nonetheless cast a summoning charm for a Bezoar, waiting a couple seconds for something to happen before taking out Draco's old tin box of potion ingredients in a desperate effort to do something, anything to fix this. He thanked whatever deity could hear him that Malfoy had always been better organized than himself; the vials of potions and spare ingredients were stacked neatly inside the box and wrapped in parchment for safekeeping. Harry remembered his own trunk with the spilled ink bottles and old socks scattered throughout, and was grateful that Malfoy had at least made this part as easy as possible for him. He shuffled through the vials, noticing that most of them appeared to be for medical purposes: Murtlap essence, burn-healing paste, essence of dittany, and with a shock, Harry found a vial labeled "Antidote to Common Poisons''. He wasn't sure if Laethelixir fell under the category of "common poisons," but was willing to try anything at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushed back over to the lavatory as fast as he could, kneeling down by Draco once more and uncorking the vial, opening Draco's lips slightly and tilting his head back so he could pour the entire potion down his throat. He waited for several excruciating seconds, hoping more than anything that this would work, knowing that if it didn't, Draco's blood was surely on his hands. He prodded Draco, checking his pulse several times to make sure he was still alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what felt like a lifetime of Harry counting Draco's heartbeats, dreading the worst possible outcome, Draco's eyes flickered open. He gasped loudly, taking several deep, rasping breaths, then immediately leaned his head over the toilet and coughed up the elixir he had ingested, along with the potion that had just been administered. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding for nearly ten minutes, and leaned his head against the bathroom wall in relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco slumped back towards Harry when he had gotten everything out of his system. He was clearly still delirious; both his skin and lips were deathly pale, and his eyes couldn't focus on anything in front of him. He laid his head down in Harry's lap, probably not realizing what he was doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," He whimpered, his voice sounding so much weaker than it had been when they were at the cottage. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stroked his head, slowly comforting Malfoy and also calming himself down. His heart rate was finally starting to go back to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be sorry," he whispered, his fingers weaving through Malfoy's platinum blonde hair gently. "It's ok. You're ok."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't leave," Malfoy said softly, and Harry felt a wave of sorrow for what had just happened, for the decision that Malfoy had just made because he truly believed there was nothing left to live for. "Please stay with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not going anywhere." Harry replied, his hand slowly caressing Malfoy's head until he could feel the other man's breathing fall into a slow rhythm. Trying to cause as little disruption as possible, Harry got to his feet and cast a spell to levitate Malfoy into his bed, finally taking a deep breath once he was safely lying down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry fixed the door back on its hinges so that they wouldn't be barged in on; the last thing they needed was for them to be found together in this room with probably thousands of galleons worth of Laethelixir. He sat down in the chair at Malfoy's desk and tried to think of the best way to handle the predicament they were in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was distracted momentarily by three letters sitting next to the empty vials of Laethelixir; they were addressed to Draco's mum, to someone called Mitchell Bennett, and, surprisingly, to himself. Harry noticed curiously that there wasn't a letter for Draco's father, and wondered if he had been emitted intentionally, or if Draco had run out of time. He wanted to read the letter with his name on it more than anything, mostly just to understand Draco's thought process after their conversation at the cottage, but knew that it wasn't his decision whether or not that letter was opened. He would let Draco choose whether he wanted Harry to read it when he was back to his normal self.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which brought Harry back to the present moment. More specifically, the amount of illegal contraband contained in this room. He would have to find a way to get rid of it somehow; he couldn't just leave Draco to sell it all so that something like this could happen all over again. Harry sat at the desk and began to devise a plan, taking out a spare piece of parchment and beginning to scribble his thoughts on it idly. Draco slept soundlessly through the evening and into the night, and by the time the morning sun began to filter in through the window over the desk, Harry had finally figured out what he needed to do.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>September, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thought going through Draco's head when he jolted awake in a strange, four poster bed was that he had absolutely no idea where he was. His wand and shoes were nowhere within sight. There was loud music playing nearby, heavy drums and guitars carrying up through the floorboards of the room Draco found himself in. The old, wooden bed he was lying in was very similar to his own ornately carved furniture back in the manor, and the dusty, emerald green hangings and tapestries covering the walls made him feel like he was back in the Slytherin Common Room at Hogwarts, but this place was just as foreign to him as the blaring rock music that was permeating the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second thing he registered after he had sprung out of the bed was that he had never felt worse in his life. His head was throbbing with a terrible, pounding pain, his bones were still weak and bruised from the night he had spent with Delev, and the gnawing, aching pain in his stomach reminded him that he needed to eat something soon or his body would stop functioning entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door of the bedroom and glanced down the hallway, only starting to get his bearings when he saw the house elf heads mounted on the wall adjacent to him. This must be Potter's place, then. He had never been upstairs before, but now recognized the Black family crest above the bed in the room he had just left, and knew this had to have been the old house that Sirius and Regulus grew up in. He wondered how he could have gotten all the way to Harry's flat in London without even realizing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memories started flooding back from the day before, the fight he and Potter had gotten into back at the cottage, his letters, the Laethelixir, and then finally Harry waking him up, holding him in his arms as the waves of agony shook through Draco's body with whatever medicine Harry had administered to counteract the elixir. The whole thing had felt like a long, terrible dream, but Draco was still here. He was alive, and he was no longer in the Leaky Cauldron, and he could detect the scent of fried eggs wafting up the staircase as he walked further down the hallway. The music grew louder as he stepped lightly down the stairs and into Potter's familiar kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an old, rounded box sitting on the counter that was emitting the music Draco had heard from the bedroom. Harry had his back to the doorway and was cooking what looked like a large, colorful mixture of food on the stovetop, using a plastic spatula instead of his wand for whatever reason he saw fit. He was frying up tomatoes, eggs, and diced potatoes in a skillet, swaying slightly with the beat of the music and sprinkling ingredients into the pan with a delicacy that Draco found rather endearing to observe. He couldn't help but smile as he stood in the kitchen watching Harry, forgetting about the amount of pain he had been through in the last 24 hours, and letting the matters of his family, his finances and his predicament with the Laethelixir fade into the background for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was wearing a light grey T-shirt that hugged his newly refined muscles more than he probably realized, and it was doing all kinds of favors for his physique. Draco took the opportunity to let his eyes shamelessly rove over Harry's shoulders, his trim yet delightfully curved waist, and the shape of his arse in the faded blue jeans he wore. Potter made a movement to grab some salt and Draco quickly averted his gaze, as though Potter would be able to sense he was being stared at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's really loud, you know." He said, causing Harry to spin around and drop the spatula he was holding. He clearly hadn't realized that Draco was in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was kind of the point," Harry said, picking the utensil up and grinning as he tossed it into the sink. "I couldn't think of another way to wake you up without dragging you out of bed," He stepped over to the radio and adjusted the volume so that Draco could actually hear himself think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here," Harry said, picking up a plate that was resting on the counter. "This one's for you." He flipped the contents of the pan onto the plate and offered it to Draco, who couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten a home cooked meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," he said, not knowing what else to reply with at the moment. He didn't really have anything else he could say to Potter, except that he was glad to be in a place that wasn't his bedroom in Diagon Alley, and he was grateful to still be alive, all things considered. He sat down and started eating the food on his plate as Potter carried on cooking his own breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Draco had finished his eggs and was about to head upstairs, Harry brought his own plate over to the table and set two steaming mugs of coffee down in front of them. He didn't say anything, but held his own mug in a way that communicated he was waiting for a conversation to take place. That was the last thing Draco felt like giving him at the moment, but he picked up the mug of coffee all the same to express gratitude for the gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" He asked, when Harry's expression became a bit too pointed. Harry merely shrugged, taking a drink of the coffee and pretending he wasn't prodding Draco for anything. Harry's attitude, which Draco had first interpreted to be casual and unassuming, was clearly an act to hide the fact that there were a number of questions he still needed answers to. Draco nearly rolled his eyes, trying to mentally prepare himself for the impending conversation that he didn't think could possibly go well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you have my wand?" Draco asked, thinking back to the reason he had wound up in Harry's kitchen in the first place back in June.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," Harry replied, not providing any additional details. Draco saw that underneath the lighthearted demeanor Harry was putting on, his eyes looked troubled. It was clear that he hadn't slept at all last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I have it back?" He asked, seeing how much leniency he was able to get away with after what had happened yesterday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Harry said plainly. Using a fork to tear into his omelet. "Not until I know this sort of thing won't happen again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that was his angle. He was going to try to be the protective, calm, and responsible adult in this situation, the man who made Draco breakfast after saving his life, and who set the boundaries on what was and was not permitted in his house. Draco wished he would have just come right out and addressed the issue, rather than skirting around it like a trained dancer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Potter, you can't hide my wand from me. I'm not your prisoner."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry placed his fork down on his plate, fixing Draco with another discerning look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we both know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry said nothing else to elaborate upon this, but instead continued to stare at him with a look that said ‘you wouldn’t be sitting here if I hadn’t saved your life yesterday, so I’m not going to play your games’. It reminded Draco of the same, all-knowing gaze he had received from Dumbledore whenever Draco had spoken with the headmaster in the last couple months of his life. It was as though he were having his mind read; Even without using legilimency, Dumbledore somehow knew exactly what he was thinking and which course of action he would execute next. The predicament Draco was in now was even more humiliating than his feeble attempts to assassinate Dumbledore two years ago. The elephant in the room loomed over them both: he had tried to kill himself last night, and Harry had been there to stop it. He didn’t know if his pride would ever recover from such a blow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow, deep breath and wondering how long it was going to be before he could see his wand, if Harry was ever intending to return it to him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where are the books?" He asked, addressing the potions they were surely both thinking about. He imagined with a surge of horror the stash of Laethelixir being found by Tom after he had left the room, and then his own descent straight into the gates of Azkaban.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that what we're calling them?" Harry retorted, still keeping his expression much calmer than Draco would have expected given the circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Potter, please. It's important those don't get out..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know it's important. I'm handling it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence between the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How... Are you handling it?" Draco asked, doing his best to confirm that there wouldn't be ministry officials swarming into the house as soon as Harry gave the orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry granted Draco a long, serious look, his bright green eyes lingering on Draco's grey ones for a little too long. Draco wished desperately to know what he was thinking, whether or not he had shared this experience with anyone, if he was intending on turning Draco in once the dust from the night before had settled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Follow me," Harry said, standing up and bringing his coffee into the study that he had shown Draco the last time they had been in this house together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was much cleaner than it had been when Draco had last visited. Harry's clothes were no longer lying on every available surface, and the contents of his trunk were neatly tucked away in the corner. Draco noticed his own school trunk sitting next to Harry's on the other side of the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry knelt down by Draco's green leather trunk and unfastened the clasps, lifting the lid and propping it against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the chest were all of the books that had been piled up in Draco's room. The interior of the chest was now roughly the size of a small washroom, and the books were stacked haphazardly against the walls as they had been in The Leaky Cauldron. There had to be hundreds of them, and they now all fit neatly inside the school trunk with the rest of Draco's possessions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Extension charm," he said in response to Draco's raised eyebrows. "It took me all night to get it right, even while following the step-by-step guide in your school books."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You didn't get Granger to do it for you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shook his head, letting the lid of the trunk fall closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I haven't told anyone, if that's what you're asking," He said as he stood back up, dispelling the fear that Draco had been having since the moment he woke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why not?" He asked, hoping that he wasn't unwittingly making a case for Harry to turn him over to the ministry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry continued to look at Draco, appearing to be studying his facial expressions. Draco was starting to grow uncomfortable with the amount of eye contact they were sharing; it was as though Harry were trying to pry him for as much information as possible without really saying anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, I don't understand a lot of what's been going on with you these last months, and you're right. It's because I didn't write to you, and I didn't try to find you, and I’m sorry I handled things the way that I did. But you have to understand that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he said, gesturing towards the closed trunk, "All of this, on top of your father's sentence and the investigation at Malfoy Manor, I'm sure you know is enough to get you a life sentence in Azkaban just like him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't need another lecture, Potter. I knew what the stakes were when I got involved."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry paused again, raising an eyebrow as though Draco still wasn’t grasping the severity of their predicament. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew that they would let you rot in prison, and throw your mother out of the hospital without you there to support her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me, Potter, what was I supposed to do?” Draco asked, raising his voice in desperation. “It’s nearly impossible for ex-death eaters to find a job, let alone someone of my reputation. I didn’t have anywhere else to get the money, that’s the whole reason I was at my aunt’s in the first place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you didn’t think to talk to me? After what happened between us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You work for the ministry! They target all the death eaters they can find, breathing down our necks and waiting for us to make a mistake so they can chuck us in prison.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have turned you in. We were both children when you joined his side, you don’t deserve to be locked away for that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know there’s no way I could have trusted you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry breathed deeply, nodding to indicate that he understood what Draco was saying. Draco watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, clearly trying to think of the right words to say to respond to something like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true, Draco thought to himself, trying to push down the feeling of regret that was bubbling up in his veins after speaking those words. He didn’t know that Harry wouldn’t try to enact revenge upon him for everything that Draco had done during their school days, that Harry wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to put him behind bars as soon as he had secured a position in the Auror Department. There was a nagging voice in the back of Draco’s mind that told him this was the only reason Harry had kissed him in the first place. He was trying to reel Draco in, to lure him into a false sense of security, and then, when Draco was least suspecting it, he would pounce, summoning the full power of the ministry to put Draco away. It was only now that Draco was realizing how many opportunities he had given Harry to do just that, but for whatever reason he was still here. Harry hadn’t turned him in. Not yet, at least. It was a comforting feeling, even if it wasn’t meant to last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should stay here for a bit," Harry said. "If you go back to the Leaky Cauldron, hell, if you go anywhere at this point -- probably even your aunt’s -- there will be people waiting for you, trying to hunt you down. I can't imagine that you disappearing out of thin air with this much Laethelixir can put you in a favorable position with your supplier."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco frowned, thinking again about the number of ways this could end, most of them with himself either dead or in Azkaban. He didn’t seem to have a problem with the possibility of him being dead last night, but something about the urgency, the earnestness in Potter’s voice made him think about how much he had almost thrown away. He had become so numb to all of the feelings going through his mind that he had forgotten what it felt like to dwell on the possibility that someone might actually care about him, and might have actually saved him because they wanted him to be alive. It was almost too good of a possibility for him to imagine. He had to find out if he was crazy for entertaining such an idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why is that any of your concern?" Malfoy asked, scowling slightly. "Why do you care whether I get killed or not? I'm a distributor, just like them. If you had any moral decency you'd be arresting me right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry ignored him and continued, carrying on with the plan that he had no doubt spent a couple of hours hatching while Draco had been sleeping the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think we can help each other out, Draco. You need a place to live where you won't get killed by the hitmen they're probably sending after you right this moment, and I need my job back in the ministry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You lost your job?" Draco asked, taken aback by Harry's statement. "So you're not an auror anymore?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I am. It's... Complicated. That's not important."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It sounds important.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not. It’s temporary, and I’m fixing it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyways, if you stay here and lie low for a while, we can take the information you have and put the people who are after you behind bars. We can turn the product directly in to the ministry, so you don't have to sell it or move it around in a way that would draw attention to yourself. I think it's the only way out of this mess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he did have an angle. And it was for his own personal gain, not because he felt anything for Draco. He had probably just saved his life last night so he could look even more like a hero, and leverage Draco’s situation into something that would benefit him in the long run. Draco was beginning to see how alarmingly Slytherin-like Harry actually was, and the thought was a bit entertaining, albeit annoying as hell in this particular circumstance. Did he care, or didn’t he? If he did, why couldn’t he just come right out and say it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So... Correct me if I'm wrong. You're asking me to turn over my contacts, betray my suppliers and risk my own fucking neck, just so you can play the savior card at the ministry and get your job back?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry exhaled loudly, and Draco couldn't help but feel a hint of satisfaction; he had managed to get a rise out of Potter. It was just like the old days, the same, familiar adrenaline rush when Potter's blood began to boil and Draco was responsible for it. It was this slight, subtle way in which Draco could directly observe the effect he had on Harry that he craved; in school he would lie up in his four poster at night strategizing how to improve his craft the following morning to get even more recognition, to have the other boy react to him in a way that would ensure he was being thought about. It was no longer a game that the two of them played in the courtyards and corridors in between classes, but his base instinct was to push back, to keep pushing until Harry said something that he wanted to hear, until he was validated by Harry in the way that he so desperately needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look," Harry said, running his fingers through his messy black hair and making Draco wonder how his own hands would feel in their place. "We're running out of options, here. If you leave and they find you, they will kill you. If you stay here and help me, we can take care of this, and I'll do my best to help you clear your name and get your mansion back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he cared. Draco could see it in the flush rising to his cheeks, the frustration evident on his face. There was no way he would get this upset if he didn’t care. Draco smirked slightly, realizing that this proposition hinged on Harry’s assumption that Draco would comply with everything he had laid out. There had been a subtle, underlying shift in the power dynamic, and Draco couldn’t miss an opportunity to point out the fact that Harry needed him for something. That was the subtext in this conversation, after all. Potter needed his help, and was willing to save him from the miserable situation he had fallen into as an exchange for his cooperation. Draco decided he could go a bit longer without agreeing to the plan, just to see what other truths he could coax out of Harry in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Honestly,” he started, “I'd rather be dead than play the supporting role in your trumped up, heroic fantasy. And quite frankly, I'm surprised you're even able to spare a room with the size of your ego."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, that was... unnecessary,” Harry said, rolling his eyes and looking like he would rather be doing anything except this right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do I know you won’t turn me in with the rest of them once you have your names? Why would you protect me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco," Harry sighed, his tone more exasperated than Draco had heard it in quite some time. "Please just... Listen to me. I'm tired, and I spent all night worrying about getting you here safely and coming up with a plan for how to keep you alive. I just... I'm sick of the mind games and I need you to be on my side for once."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Draco said, continuing to push back until he got what he wanted. "Why are you doing any of this? Why do you care so much about keeping me alive?" He was now just a foot away from Harry's face, and could see every freckle, every scar that had once scraped his perfect, irritatingly clear complexion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued to look into Harry's eyes, urging him to acknowledge that there was something more than a convenient arrangement between the two of them. Harry hadn't just done all of this because he felt bad about Malfoy almost taking his own life; there was something else that had nothing to do with whether or not Draco was being hunted down by Delev and the suppliers. The attraction between them was probably more powerful than either of them realized, and all that Draco wanted was for Harry to admit that he felt the same way as Draco did. He wanted to know that Harry truly cared about him, not as a joke, not as a conquest that would improve Harry's own self esteem when he got what he wanted, and not as a former classmate who he felt obligated to save because of his aforementioned hero complex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry cleared his throat, trying to dispel the latent, unbearable silence that had filled the room. He looked distressed, as though he wasn't ready to admit to himself what Draco was asking of him, but Draco didn't let his gaze falter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you me-" Harry began, but Draco interrupted him immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know what I mean."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was another pause, in which Draco wondered if he would ever have his question answered, if Harry would ever address what had happened between them in his kitchen, if he even felt the same way Draco did. As seconds passed, Draco felt the lingering doubt creep in -- maybe he had been wrong about Harry. Maybe he really had done this just out of moral obligation, and not because Draco meant anything to him. Draco felt his stomach sinking further inside his body with each passing moment. Surely if Harry was taking this long to say anything, the sentiment couldn’t have been mutual.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco broke the eye contact finally, looking down at the ground and turning, ready to leave the study again. So this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>the end, then. He would have to find his wand, would have to get out of here as soon as possible and let whatever fate that awaited him outside these doors catch up with him. At least he would probably get to say goodbye to his mother before they found him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, wait." Harry's voice was loud, more forceful than it had been earlier, and commanding enough to cause Draco to pause in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't go. Stop fucking leaving whenever I'm about to say something to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stopped, a bit surprised by Harry's tone, and turned around to face him. Harry had set down his coffee cup, and was standing resolutely by the trunk, his jaw set as though he were struggling to decide which words to let out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm really bad at this," he said, running a hand through his hair again in what Draco had now identified as a familiar nervous habit. "I'm bad at relationships, and saying what I'm feeling, and... Really the only other people I've been with have initiated the romantic aspects of... Things."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco remained standing in the doorway, his heart giving a lurch in his chest when Harry categorized this as a "romantic" relationship, but let him speak without interruption.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I couldn't sleep for weeks after the war," Harry said slowly, now directing his words to his feet. "I kept having nightmares about the people who had died, about Voldemort coming back, about my friends being tortured and me not being able to save them." He took a deep breath, continuing to speak to Draco in a slow, controlled cadence. Draco could tell it was taking a great amount of his remaining energy to coax the words to the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When you came here in June, when we kissed... It was like a switch had flipped on in my head. I was dreaming again, but not about the war - I was having dreams about you. I was looking forward to sleeping every night because I was kissing you, and doing other things with you... Anyways, it made me feel safe when nothing else in my life was going right." Harry had brought his eyes up to meet Draco's once more, and Draco held his gaze unflinchingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's been getting bad again," Harry continued. "I've been having trouble with training. They put me on temporary leave because I just can't... I can’t make the memories go away. They just keep coming up in different ways, and you were the only thing that made them stop."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harry," Draco said softly, addressing him by his first name for the first time in recent memory. He took a couple steps towards the other man, but Harry held a hand up to stop him before he had reached the school trunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait. I just... I need to say something else," he said, clearly wanting to get it all out of his system before he lost his nerve. "I'm sorry about not finding you after you left. About not writing, or trying to see you at the inn. I wanted to, trust me, I was just..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Scared?" Draco asked, a smile prying at his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grinned, finally taking a breath and chuckling in spite of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck you," he said with a laugh, raising his hand to ruffle the back of his head again, but before he could reach upwards, Draco caught his forearm and held it in his grasp. He looked into Potter's eyes, the bright green hue more intense than Draco had remembered. He glanced down at Harry's pink lips, remembering the taste of them from the last time they had kissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really want me to stay?” He asked, bringing Potter’s arm down to his side and running his fingers over the goosebumps that had formed upon his touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I really do.” Harry’s face was beginning to turn pink. Draco had thought there wasn’t anything that would make him want to kiss Harry more, but now he couldn’t resist if he wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just because of the Laethelixir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Not just because of that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And do you want me to get closer?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took another step forward so that he could feel the warmth of Harry's breath on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The beard really does suit you, you know," Draco said, his breath coming out as almost a whisper now that he was only inches away from Harry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank God, I'd be lost without your approval," Harry retorted sarcastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’ve nearly had it with your sass, though," Draco smiled, placing a finger under Harry's chin and bringing it up to his own, hovering over his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you know how to shut me up,” Harry grinned back at him, making Draco finally press his mouth gently against Harry’s full lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't like last time at all. The kiss wasn't torn out of them by instinct in an almost violent fit of passion; it was soft and tender, it was Draco apologizing for the way he had left Harry, for not coming to him sooner and asking for help, for trying to deal with things the way he had last night. Harry inhaled deeply and brought his hands up into Draco's hair, breaking the kiss only to glance at Draco's face through his dark lashes. Draco let his hands trace down the side of Harry's body, feeling the firm muscles through his shirt and the familiar curve of his hips, pulling him a little closer by the belt loops in his jeans. Waves of endorphins exploded in his head like fireworks as he slowly kissed Harry's lips again, and again, the elation better than even the euphoria he had experienced last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco's knees backed against the fabric of the sofa in the room, and Harry pushed his shoulders lightly to coax him onto the cushions, climbing on top of him and planting a thigh on either side of his waist as his lips continued to administer Draco's. He was phenomenally talented, Draco remarked to himself when Harry's tongue pressed against his lips for entry, especially considering he had probably only gotten laid a couple of times in his life. He didn't have an instructor like Bennett to show him the ropes as Draco had; in typical Potter fashion, he just added his own spin to whatever he was doing and happened to be fantastic at it. It was a quality of his that Draco had always found infuriating, but also rather impressive at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Easy," Draco whispered again, his hands holding Harry's thighs to support him on Draco's torso. "We have all day -- Go slow."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry followed his direction, beginning to rock his hips towards Draco's at an agonizingly slow pace, his lips drifting down to the pale skin of Draco's neck. Draco remembered the mark Harry had left there last time, the one that Bennett had noticed immediately. It didn't matter now, he thought with triumph. There was nowhere else he needed to be, no one he needed to answer to. He tilted his head back as Harry unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt, giving him full access to whatever part of his body Harry wanted to explore. Harry's tongue was tantalizingly warm, his touch on Draco's body sending electric jolts up and down his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry paused, however, when he had opened the rest of Draco's shirt to reveal the skin beneath. Draco remembered with a twinge of embarrassment that he had never administered any type of healing charms after the night he had spent with Delev, that the bruises and marks the older man had left on his body would probably look even worse than they had yesterday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, when Harry had pulled his shirt off of his shoulders he drew away, his eyes roaming over Draco's chest. He traced the outlines of the scratches, bite marks and bruises on Draco's torso with a delicate finger, noticing the scars on the surface, but also the deep, white ones that ran across his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Draco, are these from when... Did I - " Harry asked, the concern in his voice enough to make Draco wish he had never opened his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Some of them, yeah," Draco replied, glad that at least his bruised wrists and the self-inflicted scars on his Dark Mark tattoo were covered up by his shirt still. "If you give me my wand back, I can fix the other ones."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who did this to you?" Harry asked in a worried tone, dismounting from Draco's torso and making the taller boy let out a sigh of frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Potter, it's nothing. I don't want to talk about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not nothing, some of those scars are really deep." Harry was now standing up and getting something from the corner of the room. Draco began to fasten the buttons on his shirt again; clearly the moment he had been hoping for had passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just forget it, okay? What are you doing?" Harry was rummaging around in Draco's trunk once more. He closed it after a moment of searching, bringing back Draco's wand and the bottle of the dittany Draco had mixed together after he had paid the visit to Knockturn Alley which had led him down the path of being a distributor in the first place. It was odd, thinking about the fact that if Draco hadn't left Harry's house the way he did back in June, he wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry joined him back on the sofa, giving him both the wand and the dittany so he could start healing the wounds on his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can talk to me," he said, the lust in his eyes a couple of moments ago now replaced with sorrow for whatever he thought was going on in Draco's life. "I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stared at him for a moment, wondering if Potter was the kind of person he could open up to, or if he was just going to move on and take the parts of Draco's soul that had been laid bare with him, as everyone else had done up until now.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I tell you, will you run off and try to find him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter's eyes were sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not unless you want me to."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took a deep breath, unbuttoning his shirt once more so that he could administer the dittany on some of his deeper wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He’s the head of the suppliers," Draco said, wincing as he dabbed the potion on his skin. "A man called Regis Delev. He's powerful, he has a ring of followers within the Wizarding Community, and he’s branched out to some muggle neighborhoods as well. I needed some money, and he... He let me work for it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry's jaw clenched when he understood what Draco had said. Draco was glad he had made Harry agree not to go running after Delev; he couldn't think of anything worse than Harry rushing into a dangerous situation with a hot head and getting himself hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't that make it all the more important for us to stop him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco nearly rolled his eyes at how irritatingly heroic Harry was acting, although he wasn’t sure what else he expected from him. Of course he would see this as a challenge, and not a dangerous situation that both of them should avoid so as not to meet a gruesome, untimely death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Last time I checked you were suspended from the ministry," he said, returning Harry's determined expression with a light-hearted smirk. "What do you expect to be able to do from your couch?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry took the bottle of Dittany from Draco and, conjuring up a clean rag from his kitchen, helped him administer the substance on his bare chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lucky for both of us," he said as he looked up at Draco again, returning his smirk with a gleaming, mischievous look in his eyes, "I've never been too fond of following rules."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco laughed, in spite of everything that was happening at the moment. The marks on his chest were searing his skin as they healed, and his pants were still uncomfortably tight as a result of the kiss they had shared, but he allowed himself to rest his head back on the cushions and laugh at the brazen, reckless man he had found himself growing to like more than he had even thought possible over the last 24 hours. It was almost absurd, how much time he had spent fantasizing about getting into Potter's trousers for as long as he could remember, only to now be just as content laughing at his jokes as he would be if they were fucking on the sofa. Harry began to laugh too, probably thinking, as Draco was, how ridiculous all of this seemed. It felt good to laugh after the terrible night they had shared. Harry continued to chuckle, lowering his head slightly, and Draco took the opportunity to kiss him once more. He pressed his smiling lips to Harry's and cupped his bearded face with both of his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're insane," he whispered into Harry's mouth, thinking of how handsome Harry was when he smiled. It lit up his features and extended all the way to his sparkling, green eyes, and all Draco could think of was how happy it made him to be the reason for that incandescent grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You’re an arse," he muttered back into Draco's lips, placing the rag and the Dittany on the floor beside them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry broke away from their kiss momentarily to suppress a small yawn, and Draco laughed at how endearing it was to watch Harry do something so ordinary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, am I boring you?” Draco smirked, reaching for Harry’s hand and stroking gentle circles on it with his thumb. Harry’s own hands were calloused, the exterior rough from probably countless burns, spells and Quidditch practices. Draco remembered fondly how he had removed the glass from these hands back in June, how exhilarating it had been to touch Harry in the way he had, for the very first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was too busy saving your life to sleep last night, actually,” Harry retorted, smiling back at Draco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” Draco scoffed playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry slumped his head against Draco’s shoulder, and Draco held it there, weaving his fingers into the thick, dark hair that smelled faintly of pine, a rich, musky scent that he wasn’t immediately able to identify. He let his hand rest there listening to the steady, soft sound of their breaths as they slowly fell into sync, Harry’s chest beginning to rise and fall with his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go upstairs,” Draco said after a couple, quiet minutes had passed. “It’ll be easier for you to sleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lifted his green eyes to Draco’s again, the look of exhaustion on his face making Draco want to scoop him up in his arms and carry him right up to his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that,” he said. Draco wanted to take a mental snapshot of how perfect this moment was, wanted to memorize the spacing of the furniture, the way the light was filtering into the study from the back window, and the smell of Harry’s skin that was making his heart do somersaults in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing he would like more than to wrap Harry in his arms and crawl under the soft blankets of Harry’s bed together. He took Harry’s hand and led him up the staircase, and by the time he had closed the door to the master bedroom, Harry was already asleep. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>September, 1998</p>
<p>The room was dark when Harry awoke, the glimmer of sunset barely visible through the crack in the velvet blinds draped across his window. For a moment it seemed as unremarkable as any other day, the sound of London traffic echoing below, the slight chill in the air that accompanied September evenings spreading goosebumps up and down Harry’s arms. </p>
<p>He remembered kissing Draco as he pulled him up the staircase, the feeling of Draco’s warm breath on his neck as his fingers interlocked with Harry’s, and then he remembered falling asleep listening to the gentle drum of water hitting the floor as Draco showered in the master bathroom. He had stirred for a brief moment when Draco climbed in bed next to him, and then had pulled the other man’s clean, sweet-smelling body into his own. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist, his face buried in the platinum blonde hair that still smelled somehow of the cologne Harry had come to associate with him, and let an entirely new feeling of comfort wash over him as he fell back asleep. He didn’t have a single nightmare, and he couldn’t remember feeling more well-rested since before the war. </p>
<p>Harry reached for Draco’s body in the darkness beside him now, craving the reassurance that came from sharing his bed with someone else, but as his hand splayed across the sheets he found nothing on the pillows next to him. The warm, comforting euphoria he had felt quickly vanished, and he felt a lurch in his stomach akin to the wrench of the gut associated with grabbing a portkey. He remembered Draco’s body slumped against the wall in the bathroom yesterday, how he would have managed to kill himself if Harry hadn’t found him when he did. What if he had tried something like that again? What if Harry was too late to save him this time? Harry jumped to his feet, his breath quickening and the panic waking him like a douse of cold water to his face.</p>
<p>“Draco?” He bellowed, grabbing his wand from the side table and cramming his glasses on his face. He ran to the top of the staircase and yelled Draco’s name again, not hearing any response issuing from below. His heart rate steadily rising, he cast a “Homenum Revelio” charm to save himself some time. He wondered for a sickening moment if this spell worked on the dead, but quickly pushed the thought out of his mind when a small spark issued forth from the end of his wand. The light circled the landing between the bedrooms for a moment, then halted in mid-air at the window half-way up the stairwell leading to the roof. Harry let out a deep sigh of relief, knowing exactly where Draco had gone. He ended the spell, tucking his wand into his pocket and prying the window open. </p>
<p>The sun was almost setting on the horizon, and the sky was painted pink and gold, with crimson streaks sprinkling the clouds throughout. From the roof Harry could see the Thames and the crowded buildings stacked along the riverfront, the bridges crossing the water and the many city dwellers bustling around, hurrying from one place to another. Harry often came up here to watch the people below when he was feeling trapped inside his head. There was something comforting about the fact that, no matter how stuck he was feeling in his own problems, the world was moving along as fast as ever right outside his window, and whatever problem he was working through was miniscule in the whole scope of things. </p>
<p>Draco was sitting on the roof, wearing one of Harry’s old jumpers and drinking from one of the bottles of firewhiskey that he had retrieved from the kitchen. Harry walked over and sat beside him on the slanted roof, taking the bottle from his hands and taking a swig of the whiskey himself. </p>
<p>“You found my spot,” he said, speaking to Draco as the other man stared straight ahead, watching the cars roll through the crowded London streets. He looked as though he might have been crying, although it was often hard to differentiate sadness from general weariness when it came to interpreting Malfoy’s emotions. “You scared the living hell out of me first, mind you.” </p>
<p>“Sorry about that,” Draco said, his eyes still fixed on the city below them. </p>
<p>Harry glanced sideways at him again, trying to discern Draco’s mood. The tightened jaw, the uncharacteristically ruffled hair, the way his arms rested on his knees and the curve of his usually rigidly straight posture. He couldn’t help but think how attractive Draco looked in the woolen knit sweater he had borrowed, how the dark brown and red patterns were so much warmer than the colors he usually wore.</p>
<p>“Don’t be. It’s a good place to think, I come up here every so often when I’m needing some clarity.” He drank from the whiskey bottle again, passing it back to Draco. The two of them sat in silence for quite some time. The sun was sinking further down in the sky every couple of minutes, and lights from households were beginning to illuminate the city like fireflies as it fell further into darkness. </p>
<p>“I don’t know what to do.” Draco said quietly, holding the firewhiskey bottle between his knees and taking a deep breath. </p>
<p>Harry remained silent, sensing that Draco just wanted someone to listen to him, rather than advice or guidance about his situation, which he had already offered enough of. </p>
<p>“If we go by your plan, if we do everything by the book and I give the ministry the names they want, I… I’ll never see my mother again. It would be too much of a risk; Everyone would know to look for me at St. Mungos.”</p>
<p>Harry turned to look at the man beside him. Draco’s face was illuminated by the pink of the clouds overhead, his blonde hair angelic in the glow of the sunset. Harry was overcome by the urge to kiss him again, though he figured now wouldn’t be the best time for it.</p>
<p>“I just…” Draco shut his eyes, lifting his head up to the sky. “I don’t want to abandon her. She’s not like father --  She never wanted the Dark Lord to win. She just wanted us to be together. She doesn’t deserve to die alone in a prison cell for that.”</p>
<p>“She’s in St. Mungos, not Azkaban…” Harry cut in. </p>
<p>“She’s trapped in a room by herself. It’s the same thing.” Draco responded, still looking out over the city.</p>
<p>“Then we won’t let her,” Harry replied, as simply as if he had been asked about the weather. </p>
<p>“What do you mean --”</p>
<p>“We won’t let her die alone. We can send her to live with your aunt, we can even bring her here. I’ll pay for the healers, I’m sure that given the circumstances we could bind them to confidentiality. Nobody would have to know.” </p>
<p>“I can’t, Potter. It’s hundreds of galleons a week just to keep her in the hospital. I can’t imagine how much it would cost to bring her here. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” </p>
<p>“Then why don’t we visit her there, under the invisibility cloak?” </p>
<p>“That’s risky,” Draco said, slowly. </p>
<p>“Keeping you here is risky too.” </p>
<p>The two shared a look, their fingers brushing as Draco passed the bottle back to Harry. </p>
<p>“I know.” Draco looked uncomfortable, as though he didn’t know how to respond to this statement. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Harry said conversationally, bringing his hand to rest on Draco’s arm. “I understand the stakes. I knew what I did when I brought you here, I’m not under any kind of delusion that this isn’t dangerous.” </p>
<p>“I never asked you to.” Draco stated, his voice barely audible above the noise of the city from below.  </p>
<p>Silence fell between them again. Harry was wracking his mind trying to think of the right thing to say, but for some reason nothing was entering his mind. He felt his own discomfort mounting in the spaces between each of their breaths, and eventually spoke just to break the silence. </p>
<p>“Draco, I’m just trying to -“ </p>
<p>“How long have you known you were gay?” </p>
<p>They both spoke at the same time, and Harry’s eyebrows immediately traveled most of the way up to his hairline upon hearing Draco’s question. It wasn’t an unfair one, he supposed. He had just not been expecting it. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Draco said. Clearly he had just blurted out something that had been on his mind. He took a deep breath. “It just hasn’t sunk in yet, that it’s not just me. That I wasn’t making it up in my head.” </p>
<p>“That’s fair,” Harry said, smiling at the way Draco had felt he needed to justify his question. It was endearing, as many of his other small personality quirks had become to Harry. He tried pondering this for a moment, gathering his thoughts so he could communicate them in the best way to Malfoy. The truth was, this question had often come up in Harry’s own mind, and he wasn’t exactly sure he had an answer to it. </p>
<p>“I don’t know if there was a definite point when I knew,” Harry started slowly, trying to find the right words to say. “I always liked girls, too, so it wasn’t a black and white thing for me. It was just thoughts here and there, like fancying quidditch stars who were fit, or starting to sweat a lot when Oliver Wood changed in front of me in the locker rooms,” Harry took another large swig of the bottle, already feeling the sensation of inebriation loosening up his words, pushing him to share more than he normally would. “It never went beyond fancying people though, and sometimes imagining what it would be like.”</p>
<p>“Did you think about what it would be like with me?” Draco asked, his pale grey eyes fixed on Harry’s. </p>
<p>Harry thought again of that time after Quidditch practice, when he had unwittingly walked in on Draco and Blaise together. He thought about how many times this scene had run itself through his head afterwards. Even in the midst of everything going on that year, and despite his justified hatred of Draco, he had still managed to retain that memory and utilize it when he was alone in his four poster bed at school, desperate for the relief that it brought him to imagine himself in that scene. He had never been able to explain the thrill that accompanied this particular fantasy, and it was only now starting to make sense to him. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he responded, feeling his face growing red. “Loads of times.” </p>
<p>“I thought about you too,” Draco said, the corners of his lips turning upwards. “More often than you did, I guarantee it.” </p>
<p>“Well you certainly didn’t act like it,” Harry retorted, feeling a rush of exhilaration upon hearing that Draco fantasized him as well. He tried not to smile outright, hoping not to let his emotions betray him right away, but it was a difficult task. </p>
<p>“I don’t think you realize how satisfying it is to get a rise out of you, Potter.” </p>
<p>The smirk on Draco’s face made him look like his old, teenage self. It was reassuring to see that he was slipping back into his old persona, that the events of the last 24 hours hadn’t completely wiped out all of his infuriating tendencies that were now as equally charming as they were irritating. </p>
<p>“Is that what you were doing? When you were being a complete arse to everyone at school who wasn’t a Slytherin?” </p>
<p>“That was years ago, Potter. Give it a rest.” He took the bottle from Harry, grinning broadly now. Harry thought once more of leaning over to kiss his smiling, pink lips, hoping to catch him off guard as he did the first time he had kissed him in the kitchen, but he held himself back. He still wanted to know more about Draco’s life, while they were on the topic. </p>
<p>“When did you know?” Harry asked. “That you were gay?” </p>
<p>The smile slowly faded from Draco’s face, and he went back to staring straight ahead of him at the city traffic below. Part of Harry wished he had just left the conversation as it was, instead of pressing him for more. </p>
<p>“I think I always knew,” Draco said. “Well, I always knew I wasn’t interested in girls, at least.” He took a deep breath. “I tried to deny it for the longest time, but Blaise and I started messing around fourth year, and I think everything sort of clicked into place then.”</p>
<p>“How long did you and Blaise… See each other?” Harry asked, unable to help his curiosity. Zabini was significantly more attractive than Harry was, and he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a possibility of him popping up at a later point in Draco’s life again. </p>
<p>“It was never serious,” Draco said, his eyes gleaming as though remembering an old joke. “We mostly just experimented together, practiced getting each other off. He liked girls too, but I was always around, and we slept in the same dorm anyways, so we just helped each other out.” </p>
<p>“Right,” Harry said, feeling the blush rising back into his cheeks. He wasn’t even going to pretend that he understood the inter-student relationships within the Slytherin dormitories, or that he had the faintest frame of reference of what “experimenting” would have looked like with his Gryffindor classmates. It was a completely separate world from his own. He wondered how much different his life might have been if he had been sorted into Slytherin as well, if he might have been the one that Malfoy experimented with instead of Zabini.</p>
<p>“So you just… shagged each other, and that was it?” Harry asked. “You didn’t go out or anything?” </p>
<p>“Basically, yes. Blaise had a girlfriend 5th year, so he didn’t want anyone finding out. Besides,” he continued, taking another swig of the whiskey. “It’s really stigmatized, especially in pureblood families. My father found us over break that year and beat the living shit out of me.” </p>
<p>“Oh.” </p>
<p>Harry’s heart sank. He knew that things had been hellish enough in the Malfoy house with all of the death eaters and Voldemort supporters hanging around his father, but he didn’t know that physical violence had been a part of Draco’s childhood as well. The Dursleys had been terrible to him, but the most they had been guilty of was emotional abuse. Harry was starting to see a new, vulnerable side of Draco which was explaining many of his actions when they were younger. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Draco said softly, proceeding to finish the rest of the whiskey bottle. </p>
<p>“I didn’t... I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>“Don’t be. If anything, I have you to thank for not outing me to the entire school.” </p>
<p>“Did he… do that often?” Harry asked. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” he added quickly.</p>
<p>Draco glanced sideways at Harry, as if gauging whether or not he wanted to dive further into this subject. It was growing colder outside by the minute, the wind starting to whip at their faces up on the rooftop, pulling patches of red blush up to the hollows of Draco’s cheeks. </p>
<p>“Yes. More often after he found out I was gay, like he could beat it out of me if he tried. It makes sense, I guess. He wanted an heir, otherwise the family line would end with me.” </p>
<p>“Did your mother do anything about it?” Harry asked. He couldn’t picture Narcissa sitting idly by if she knew any of this was going on. </p>
<p>“No, she never found out. I got really good at healing charms, so I would fix whatever marks he left and just keep it a secret.” </p>
<p>Harry was starting to realize just how lonely of a life Draco had led. Each time he had encountered something that seemed impossibly difficult in his years at school, he at least had Ron and Hermione to talk to. He couldn’t imagine having to keep everything that happened to him a secret, not being able to confide in anyone around him. It was no wonder that Draco had felt like he was at the end of his rope the previous night. </p>
<p>“Sorry if that was… too much…” Draco said slowly.</p>
<p>“No,” Harry said, interrupting him. “It’s not, I just… had no idea.” He leaned back on the rooftop so that his elbows were supporting his weight. </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Harry exhaled, watching the whisp of vapor that formed from the warmth of his breath meeting the chilled air. </p>
<p>“I think everyone wishes they had a different life,” Draco said, sounding like he was deep in contemplation. “From time to time.” He had adjusted his pose to match Harry’s, and now looked directly at Harry from under his long, dark eyelashes. “But if I did, I wouldn’t be here.”</p>
<p>Harry took this opportunity to look at Draco, to really look at him and take everything in. The slight, jutting curve of his cheekbones, the sharp angle of his jaw, the tendons and veins in his neck and the protruding bulge of his adam's apple. Every inch of him was pale, white like bleached parchment and then contrasting in beautiful, astounding ways; the dark eyebrows, the pink stains on his face where the wind had brushed against it, the cool, grey eyes that were like shining, frozen pools of ice. Harry thought he could look at him all day. He couldn’t quite express how he felt about Draco being here with him; the feeling didn’t seem to have words with which it could be communicated. The closest thing Harry could think of was “happy”, but it wasn’t just that. It was overwhelming relief, that he had someone here who understood him, that he didn’t have to go through the next couple weeks of his life alone in this house. He wanted to reach out and touch Draco just to make sure he was real, that this was really happening to him right now. </p>
<p>Draco’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s lips, as they had earlier that morning, and Harry felt that familiar twinge of lust that, if left unchecked, would easily take over all of his willpower and make him a slave to his physical desires. He blinked hard, suddenly remembering an idea. </p>
<p>“You don’t fancy a drink somewhere, do you?” He asked. Draco looked a little disoriented, obviously surprised that Harry wasn’t leaning into his kiss like he clearly expected he would. </p>
<p>“I thought we were supposed to stay here,” Draco said, adjusting his jumper to bring the sleeves further down on his wrists. It was a little too short for his long, narrow arms, which Harry thought made it even more endearing on him. </p>
<p>“The place I have in mind is… Well it’s not really a spot that wizards normally hang around. But it’s brilliant.” </p>
<p>Draco’s eyes brightened, a smile now playing on his lips. </p>
<p>“Yeah, Alright,” he said. “I could go for a bit of fun.” </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>The street outside the club was less crowded than it was when Harry was here last. They apparated together into the alley next to the neon, light up signs indicating the entrance to the bar. Harry let go of Draco’s hand, which he had been holding to perform the side-along apparition. Draco glanced sideways at him, straightening his hair with his fingertips. </p>
<p>“You’re good at that, Potter,” he said, brushing some dust off his shoulders. He had changed into a more formal-looking black shirt and a pair of Harry’s dark wash jeans, which, despite him being a bit taller than Harry, had fit him quite nicely. Harry wore a dark T-shirt and a denim jacket which provided him with some protection against the brisk, autumn air. </p>
<p>“I thought it was actually a bit rough,” Harry said. “I don’t normally apparate when I’ve had anything to drink. It messes with my concentration.” </p>
<p>“Well I splinched my shoulder almost clean off when I left your kitchen in June,” Malfoy replied. “I guess you could say the same for me.”</p>
<p>“Did you really?” Harry asked, looking concerned. He still wasn’t used to the nonchalant way that Draco would sometimes reveal startling information, as though it was hardly anything to be bothered with. He hoped Draco was running out of things that would shock Harry about his past, and that they were nearly done unpacking most of the traumatic events Harry had known nothing about. </p>
<p>“It's not a problem, I fixed it,” Draco said, smiling at Harry’s reaction. “I just clearly was concentrating very hard on something else.” </p>
<p>Harry tucked his wand into an inside pocket of his jacket, still looking rather apprehensive about Draco's comment. </p>
<p>“You need to take better care of yourself,” he said. “You can’t just go around blasting your limbs off whenever you like.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t trying to do it,” Draco said, as they began walking towards the bar. “I didn’t think it was going to mess me up like it did. Besides,” he added, with a smirk in Harry’s direction. “That’s what I have you for now. You know… The fussing over me constantly part. Not the limb blasting,” he said, as though this was an important clarification that needed to be made. “Where is it we’re going, anyways?” </p>
<p>“It’s right up here,” Harry said, slipping his fingers inside of Draco’s again and stepping towards the entryway to the bar. </p>
<p>“Potter,” Draco said, stopping in his tracks and pulling his hand back, looking around to make sure there weren’t any people watching them in the street. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t really fancy getting beat to a pulp in a muggle bar tonight.” </p>
<p>“It’s okay here,” Harry said, smiling reassuringly. “I promise.” The look on Draco’s face was still one of fearful reluctance, so instead of reaching for his hand again he just continued forward, hoping that bringing Draco here had been a good idea. </p>
<p>The music from the club was just as loud as Harry remembered it, the base vibrating so hard that he felt it all the way down to his heartbeat. As they descended the many steps leading to the dance floor, Harry was granted with the familiar scene again, the men dancing in the colored, pulsing lights, several of them shirtless or else wearing very little, and many more of them wrapped in each other’s arms and kissing with absolutely no pretenses of hiding what they were doing. It was so freeing, so comforting to know that he wasn’t the only person like this. There were almost a hundred others packed into this club who were proud to defy societal norms, and this was a sacred gathering place created just for them. </p>
<p>He had started walking towards the bar, glancing behind him to gauge Draco’s reaction, but as he turned around he saw that Draco was still standing at the foot of the staircase, a strange expression upon his face. Harry quickly returned back to him, trying to discern whether he was angry or on the verge of tears. </p>
<p>“What is this place?” Draco asked, taking in the whole scene in front of them, his voice quieter than it had been outside. </p>
<p>“It’s a gay club,” Harry responded, looking around with Draco. “I’ve come here a couple times before, but I’ve never done it properly.” </p>
<p>“So everyone here…” Draco trailed off, his voice getting lost in the sound of the music from the dance floor. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Harry responded, smiling at him again. “Well, nearly everyone, I suppose.” </p>
<p>Draco didn’t speak, but the look in his eyes reminded Harry of his own reaction when Hagrid had brought him to Diagon Alley for the very first time, when he had learned that there was a whole community of people who were just like him, and he wasn’t as alone as he thought he had been. That had been one of the best days of his life. </p>
<p>“I… had no idea....” Draco said slowly, clearly at a loss for words. </p>
<p>“Come on,” Harry said, motioning towards the bar. “Let’s get a drink.” </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>As soon as the fact that they were in a gay club had fully sunk in for Draco, he became about as enthusiastic as Harry had ever seen him. After their first round of drinks Draco had insisted they do shots, him and Harry laughing as they linked arms to swallow the contents of their glasses whole. They walked jauntily throughout the club, their hands linked together tightly as Harry gave Draco a “tour” of the place, as though he were an old patron of this building who knew all of its nooks and crannies intimately. They ascended a spiral staircase to the second floor, where there were several couples engaged in what looked to be a little more than snogging, and even scurried past a group of four that were overtaking the chaise lounges Harry had his eye on previously. They went back for two more rounds, their words beginning to slur as they clinked glasses again and again. Harry had never seen Draco this happy, this animatedly charming. All of the worries they had been discussing only a couple hours ago seemed millions of miles away. </p>
<p>When they had finished their fifth round of drinks Harry reached out and kissed Draco, pulling Draco’s body into his own and smiling into his lips. Neither of them cared who was watching them. They were safe here, in their own, anonymous club, filled with people who were like them. They could forget for a minute about the war, about the dangerous predicament both of them were in. They were just two men who could very well have been muggles kissing in a bar. It was as simple as that. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this happy. </p>
<p>“Come dance with me,” Harry mumbled into Draco’s mouth. </p>
<p>“I’m a horrible dancer,” Draco responded. </p>
<p>“I am too, believe me,” Harry laughed, remembering his disastrous encounter with Pavarti Patil at the Yule Ball. “We’re both drunk, it doesn’t matter.” Harry fixed Draco with what he was sure was a devilish smile, hooking his fingers through Draco’s belt loops. “Let’s just let loose.” </p>
<p>“Potter,” Draco said, looking so intensely into Harry’s green eyes that for a moment Harry wondered if he had completely sobered up. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” Harry responded, still feeling the effects of his stomach dropping from the piercing look Draco had given him. </p>
<p>They looked at each other for several seconds, Harry waiting expectantly for Draco to say something, anything, but instead they just remained still as the club continued to bustle with activity around them. Harry wondered if this was what it felt like to stop time entirely, to make everything else not matter except the man in front of him. With a shock that felt like electricity going through his whole body, he wondered if this was what love felt like. Surely it was just the drinks, the raucous environment, the company of someone with whom he was quickly becoming close with, but it felt like elation, nonetheless. Like pure, unadulterated happiness. </p>
<p>He had forgotten that Malfoy had said his name. Evidently, Draco had too, as they both just stood there and looked at each other like the universe was slowly starting to make sense, all at once. </p>
<p>“Let’s go dance,” Draco said finally, smiling again and slipping his long, pale fingers into Harry’s hand so they could walk together over to the dance floor. </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>They were welcomed onto the lit-up floor by two shirtless muggles with body paint on their chests who looked to be around their own age. After exchanging incomprehensible pleasantries over the roar of the music, they slowly migrated into the flow of men who were dancing and grinding in the center of the room. There were hands and bodies and drinks everywhere, it felt like a bit of a chaotic fever dream the longer they stayed in the middle of the crowd. Harry was right about the dancing; nobody seemed to care about doing it properly. Everyone appeared to be intoxicated to an extent, and he was blending right into the throngs of people as he couldn’t remember doing since he was a young boy. </p>
<p>He smiled at Malfoy under the changing, colored lights, and remarked upon the way the blue light transformed Draco into an ethereal-looking frost prince. Draco seemed to have noticed Harry was staring, and threw his head back laughing. </p>
<p>“You’re being ridiculous. People are looking at us!” He shouted so that Harry could hear him over the music. </p>
<p>“Who cares? Let them look!” </p>
<p>Harry scanned the crowd around them, only to find that people were not, in fact, watching them, but were completely transfixed upon their own partners, dancing and enjoying themselves just as much as Draco and Harry were. Harry glanced towards the entryway, which was clearly visible from this part of the floor, and was shocked to see a familiar tall, sandy head of hair make his way towards the bar. </p>
<p>“Hold on, Draco!” He shouted, grabbing Draco by the forearm and motioning towards the doorway. “That’s the man I met here last time, the lawyer. He’s one of us, I should go and say hello!” </p>
<p>Draco’s eyes followed Harry’s gaze to that section of the bar, and it looked like at that exact moment the lawyer had sensed their eyes on him and turned his head towards the dance floor. </p>
<p>“Don’t,” Draco said, his voice suddenly very serious. “Don’t go over there. We need to leave, now.” Harry looked at him and was startled to find that Draco had paled and lost every inch of the animated spirit he had possessed only moments ago. </p>
<p>“Why? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” </p>
<p>“We have to get out of here,” Draco repeated again, pulling Harry’s arm away from the dance floor and towards the back of the large room. “Do you think there’s a back exit?” </p>
<p>“Tell me what’s going on.” </p>
<p>Draco looked back into the crowded room towards the bar, panic evident in his grey eyes. It was obvious that he had recognized someone, the question was whether or not their lives were now in danger. </p>
<p>“He saw us.” Draco said, swallowing hard. “Harry, we have to run.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: Hey all, veeeery explicit sexual content in this one. Please only proceed if you are an adult. Thanks for reading! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>September, 1998</p>
<p>Harry didn’t ask questions when Draco grabbed his arm and led him towards the back of the club, bounding up the spiral staircase leading to the loft area two steps at a time. Draco was almost sure he had seen an emergency exit when they were here earlier. </p>
<p>His heart was racing in his chest. The look of mild interest on Bennett’s face when he had seen them was still burned in the back of his mind. Had he been able to recognize them from so far away? Was he following them right now? Draco didn’t have time to stop and think about the possibility of them being pursued; he only wanted to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. </p>
<p>They hastened past the couples who they had seen up on the balcony only a half hour earlier, Draco checking every couple moments to make sure that Harry was right behind him. Thankfully Harry had trusted Draco enough to take his word for the fact that they needed to leave, and had followed without another word of explanation. Draco pushed open the heavy metal door with the illuminated “Exit” sign, and they were out in the London streets once more. </p>
<p>“Let’s go this way,” Harry said, motioning towards a street to their right that was less lit by street lamps. “It’s not as direct, but there will be less people we’ll have to pass.” </p>
<p>“Alright,” Draco nodded, breathing heavily as they continued to run down the street. Harry seemed to understand that they needed to put a safe distance between themselves and the club, and did not object to the pace that Draco set. </p>
<p>The cool, night air whipped at their faces and clawed into their lungs as they sprinted, passing cars and muggles walking on the streets, neither of which seemed to pay them any notice. Draco’s chest felt like it was on fire but he continued to run, his legs propelling his body forward with each heartbeat, as though running away would make the problems of his past disappear entirely. </p>
<p>It wasn’t until they were probably a mile away from the club, closing in on the large expanse of grass that was Regent’s Park that they finally came to a stop, both of their chests rising and falling rapidly with each intake of breath. </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Harry exhaled, laughing and resting his hands over his head. “I haven’t ran that fast in months.” </p>
<p>“I can’t remember ever running that fast,” Draco said honestly, returning Harry’s smile. It felt silly, really, both of them going from being absolutely knackered at the club to sprinting halfway across the city. He definitely didn’t know he had that kind of speed in him. </p>
<p>The park was empty, save for a couple of rabbits that scattered as they approached, but the two stayed off the main, paved trail as they made their way through the manicured lawn. Harry’s house must not be too far from here, if Draco’s limited geography of the city was anything to go off of. </p>
<p>“So are you going to tell me what the hell happened back there?” Harry asked pointedly, his breath already slowing back to its normal rhythm. His auror training had clearly prepared him for that unexpected bout of exercise. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Draco nodded. He was still feeling the heightened buzz from all the alcohol they had consumed at the bar. That and heartburn, that was. “Yeah, I’ll tell you.”</p>
<p>“Who is he?” Harry asked, clearly referring to the man that they had both seen before Draco had asked that they leave. “Do we need to leave London?”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think we do.” Draco took a deep breath, his heart rate finally returning back to normal. He hadn’t talked to anyone about Bennett before, and he wasn’t quite sure he knew where to start.</p>
<p>“His name is Mitchell Bennett,” Draco said, speaking slowly. “I was seeing him when that article came out this summer in Witch Weekly, and I was worried that.... He would be the first person Delev’s men will go after when they can’t find me.” </p>
<p>He couldn’t quite see Harry in the sparse lamplight, but he wanted to continue before he lost the nerve. </p>
<p>“If they tortured him,” Draco continued, “And he saw us together, they might come after you next.”</p>
<p>“You think he would tell them?” Harry asked. He didn’t sound concerned, but Draco wasn’t quite sure what to make of that without seeing his face. </p>
<p>“I honestly don’t know,” Draco responded. “Things between us definitely didn’t end well, but I don’t know whether or not to peg him as the vindictive type.” </p>
<p>They walked in silence for a couple of moments, their feet padding through the leaves that had freshly fallen upon the grass. </p>
<p>“If you don’t mind my asking,” Harry said finally, as Draco had known he would, “What happened? How did the two of you even meet?” </p>
<p>It was a memory that Draco would not soon forget, however much had taken place since that year. It seemed like a different lifetime, before Voldemort had gained much of his power, before he was forcing Draco to torture prisoners in his own living room. It was before the war, before Draco had lost his parents, his home, and everything he had once loved. </p>
<p>“When my father went to Azkaban, after our fifth year, after the Dark Lord gave me his… Task,” Draco started, knowing that they both understood what he was talking about, “My mother and I rented a flat above Diagon Alley for the summer, so I could learn everything I could about… how to do it.” </p>
<p>“How to kill Dumbledore,” Harry stated plainly, as though neither of them knew what Draco was talking about. Draco ignored him and continued.</p>
<p>“Instead of working on the task like I should have been doing all summer, I was using the library at the Law Institute to study healing. I was there nearly every day with my books spread out all over the reference section, and one day he was there before I was, reading over all of my notes and looking through my journals. He’s a lawyer, but he’s a doctorate professor there too. He had a case he was working on that involved the invention of healing spells, which is something I’d been researching on my own nearly all summer.</p>
<p>‘Anyways, he saw all of my work and he offered me a job, and a desk and access to his own library, which had five times the amount of medical textbooks that were on the shelves downstairs. I don’t know if you knew this, but the institute used to be the headquarters for the International Magical Medical Practice, which also doubled as the infirmary that’s now located at St. Mungo’s before the whole practice moved to America. His office used to be the Dean’s, so his entire personal collection stayed with the building.” </p>
<p>“You’re losing me, Malfoy,” Harry said, but Draco could tell by his voice that he was smiling. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” he said involuntarily, but Harry didn’t seem to mind Draco’s excitement about the medical texts. </p>
<p>“So… He hired you, even though you were just 16 and didn’t have any background in law?” </p>
<p>“Well...I told him I was 18. We treated it like an internship, since I helped him with his cases.” </p>
<p>“And that’s all there was to it?” </p>
<p>“Not… exactly.” Draco could feel his face turning red, and was grateful for the cover of darkness as the two of them walked through the park. “He and I started a… sexual relationship not long after that. I think that might have been the reason he approached me in the first place, but that continued, off and on that is, for about two years.” </p>
<p>“Two years?” Harry repeated, sounding incredulous. “So during 6th year, during the war, all of that? How old was he?” </p>
<p>“He was 26,” Draco said, his voice a little quieter than it had been before. He had borne some of the responsibility for their relationship when it had first started, but he had really only lied about his age so he could have a desk in the library to come to every day that was away from the prying eyes of his constantly fussing mother, who would barrate him with questions about his task every time he set foot through the door each evening. The institute had become his safe place during that summer, and he was willing to overlook the fact that he might have been taken advantage of because of all the good that came out of his learning experiences there. He thought he had loved Bennett at the time, which was the craziest part as he looked back on all of this. He was a 16-year-old child. He didn’t know the first thing about love, or about loss. He wouldn’t learn of those things until this year, when everything he had known had been taken from him and he could no longer be reminded of the time in his life that Bennett represented. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice also low. “He seemed charismatic enough when I met him last time at the bar-- I had no idea.” </p>
<p>“How did you meet him?” Draco asked. “Did you just run into each other while you were there?” </p>
<p>“Sort of, I guess. I went there at the beginning of the summer,” Harry said. “After you had come by my place, when I was mostly just trying to figure out whether or not I fancied blokes. My godfather used to go there all the time, he had written some letters about it.” </p>
<p>Draco nodded, somehow not too surprised to hear that Sirius had also been a patron of this establishment. He had always been one for bucking conventionality, and it wasn’t too shocking to hear that this also applied to his sexual preferences. </p>
<p>“He just introduced himself at the bar and bought me a drink,” Harry continued. “I didn’t think anything of it, except that maybe he was hitting on me, but now I’m not so sure.” </p>
<p>“Do you remember what you talked about?” Draco asked, mostly out of his own curiosity. </p>
<p>“Being gay,” Harry responded with a laugh. “Well, I told him I was bisexual. He asked if I had a boyfriend.” </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Draco exclaimed, remembering something and lifting his eyes up to look at the clouded skies overhead. </p>
<p>“That morning back in June, you left a mark on my neck when we were… you know. I went straight to the hospital after that to visit my mother and he was there, and he saw it and pieced together that I was with you.”</p>
<p>“Do you think he was asking because -” </p>
<p>“Yeah. He probably assumed we were together. And then after tonight, if he really did see us, there’s no way he wouldn’t tell Delev’s men if they came round.” </p>
<p>“We don’t know that for certain.”  </p>
<p>“Yeah, but… Fuck.” </p>
<p>They were at the summit of one of the small, rolling hills of the park, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was out of exhaustion, intoxication or both, but he flopped down dramatically upon the freshly fallen, late summer leaves, looking up at the night sky through the gaps in the trees. Harry joined him on the ground, scooting close so that their shoulders were pressed together. </p>
<p>They laid there for a moment, breathing gently as the wind rippled through the trees. The chill air was forming goosebumps upon the exposed skin at Draco’s neck. </p>
<p>“Did I really leave a mark on you back in June?” Harry asked playfully. </p>
<p>“Yeah, you did.” </p>
<p>“I don’t remember doing anything of the sort.”</p>
<p>“Bullshit, Potter, you just wanted to prove you kissed me!” Draco propped himself on his elbow so he could see Harry’s silhouette in the darkness. He could tell Harry was smiling even without seeing his face. </p>
<p>“Well I think there’s only one way we can fix that,” Harry said, his fingers brushing against Draco’s on the ground beside him. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” </p>
<p>“You’ll have to leave a giant, very visible, very obvious hickey on my neck. Just to make it even.” </p>
<p>“Are you actually 14 years old, Potter?” Draco scoffed, interlocking Harry’s fingers with his own. </p>
<p>Harry’s face was only inches away from Draco’s. He was still for a moment, and then Draco could see his eyes flick up to Draco’s own through the dim light of the distant lamps. </p>
<p>“Kiss me,” Harry said in a softer voice. </p>
<p>Draco rolled on top of Harry so that he was hovering over his body, his arms pinning Harry’s body to the ground on either side. </p>
<p>It was probably the fourth or fifth time that he had pressed his lips into Harry’s that day, but it felt just like it had back in June; the new, exciting and dazzling feeling of Harry Potter’s mouth on his own would probably never become any less thrilling for him, no matter how long this lasted. </p>
<p>He sunk his body into Harry’s, interlacing both of their hands and bringing Harry’s above his head, taking in his delicious scent with each breath. It was as though he were taking a snapshot every single time he touched Harry’s body so he could remember what it would be like later, as though it was surely not something he would be lucky enough to revisit. He didn’t know why he felt this way, like every second they had together was a sacred memory, but figured it probably had something to do with the amount of time he had spent pining over Harry, and Draco being unable to believe that this was actually still happening to him. If he wasn’t careful, he might accidently let that slip out between the wet kisses he pressed into Harry’s lips. </p>
<p>“God, you feel good,” Harry whispered, squeezing Draco’s hands and grinding his hips against Draco’s own. Draco hadn’t noticed he had a full-on erection until this moment; he had been too wrapped up in kissing Harry’s mouth for it to register. He barely stifled an involuntary groan at the feel of Harry’s own tight jeans against his. </p>
<p>“You’re going to fucking kill me, Potter,” he whispered back, releasing Harry’s hands so that he could trail his own down Harry’s body, feeling every divet, every muscle on his chest. He kissed Harry’s open mouth again, but this time nearly jumped out of his skin as the two heard a loud, cracking noise overhead. </p>
<p>“Oh god, no,” Harry pleaded with the skies, but Draco had already felt the first raindrop land on the back of his neck. </p>
<p>The rain had given them little warning, and soon began to fall with a startling velocity, as though it had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to soak them through to the bone. They scrambled back to their feet, Draco realizing as he stood up that he was still too drunk to apparate anywhere, and assuming the same must be true for Harry. </p>
<p>“How far back to your place?” he asked above the noise of the torrential downfall cascading around them. </p>
<p>“About a mile,” Harry said, pointing in the direction they would need to head. “Fuck you, London!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. Draco couldn’t help but laugh, Harry looked just like an adorable puppy with his sopping wet hair and his glasses which had been rendered utterly useless. He took them off and placed them in his jacket pocket. </p>
<p>“I’ll race you there,” Draco grinned, hoping for the best -- if they got there fast, they could pick up right where they had just left off.</p>
<p>“You’re on, Malfoy.” </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>It took them only about 7 minutes of sprinting through the rainy, cobbled streets of London to get back to Harry’s front door. They stumbled inside with a fit of laughter, their clothes leaving puddles and streams of water all over the floor, and as soon as Harry had closed the door Draco immediately pushed him up against it, bringing his wet mouth back to meet Harry’s. He could feel the drops of water from Harry’s long, messy hair leaking down onto his own face. He relished in the thrill that he was so much a part of Harry in this moment that the rainwater that had drenched him on the way here was finding its way to Draco’s own skin. </p>
<p>“I can dry us off,” Harry offered, breaking from the kiss just long enough for Draco to see the pupils of his eyes almost fully dilated. </p>
<p>“Don’t,” Draco said, lowering Harry’s outstretched wand. “It’s better like this.” He wanted to say it wouldn’t matter either way, because he planned on having their wet clothes in a pile in the corner as soon as possible, but figured he would just let that happen organically.</p>
<p>“Come back here,” Harry said, the flush in his cheeks matching his raw, pink lips. </p>
<p>Harry’s hands were on either side of Draco’s jaw, their bodies now pressed against the faded wallpaper in the entryway. Harry kissed him again deeply, his fingers pulling at Draco’s wet hair and then coaxing the buttons off the black collared shirt Draco wore as he shrugged out of his own jacket. Draco moved his own fingers to unfasten Harry’s belt, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor beside them. There was an aching in his belly that was rising with each passing moment, and he knew he wouldn’t be anywhere near satisfied until they were both as close to each other as possible. </p>
<p>He pulled Harry’s T-shirt off and took a moment to marvel at the beautiful, chiseled body he had uncovered. He thought back to the first time he had come to this house at the beginning of the summer, how he had nearly lost his mind from arousal the second Harry had opened the door half naked with his slightly hardened nipples. Draco would be lying if he didn’t admit that Harry’s omission of a shirt had disoriented him thoroughly for the rest of that visit. He bent down to pay homage to that beautiful chest now, pressing greedy, wet kisses into Harry’s already damp skin. </p>
<p>His own shirt was off before he knew it, and this time Harry paid no attention to any of the marks on his chest or wrists. Harry was slipping out of his jeans and pushing Draco towards the study with each kiss, and Draco unfastened his own pants before Harry backed him into another wall.</p>
<p>“Careful there, Potter,” He said, a smirk on his lips. Harry was now running his strong hands all the way down Draco’s body, his fingers sliding the pants down and slipping underneath them. </p>
<p>“Oh,” Draco breathed, a bit surprised at Harry’s eagerness. He was rock hard for Harry, his cock almost painfully stiff against the warm fingers that were beginning to caress it. </p>
<p>“You like that?” Harry mumbled, his messy hair still leaving drops of water upon Draco’s skin. </p>
<p>“Y-Yes,” Draco could barely spit out, the pressure in his balls almost unbearable. “Fuck, Harry.” </p>
<p>“God, I love it when you say my name,” Harry grinned, trailing his tongue down Draco’s chest and sinking to his knees. </p>
<p>Was this really fucking happening? Draco was sure he felt his heart stop for a moment when Harry slid down his boxers and took his bobbing, pink cock in his hand.</p>
<p>“Are you s-sure?” Draco stuttered, remembering that Harry had told him he had never been with a man before. “You’re not too drunk?” </p>
<p>Harry looked up at him with his beautiful, green eyes, and pressed Draco’s cock against his lips as he responded. </p>
<p>“I’ve been wanting this for years,” He said. The drops of rain were still caught in his eyelashes. Draco noticed that his tip was almost the same color as Harry’s beautiful, pink lips. “Course I’m sure.” </p>
<p>The second Harry’s mouth wrapped itself around his cock, Draco was certain he’d never felt anything better in his whole life. Harry was so delectably warm and wet, the pressure of his tongue upon Draco’s member was exactly right, and Draco found himself instinctively pulling at the roots of Harry’s messy, black hair to bring him in closer. </p>
<p>It was the kind of bliss he had never known before. He had had good sex, sure, but this was close to a religious experience. Nothing he had ever done before had felt so right, so fantastically good. He let out a moan as Harry brought his mouth all the way up to Draco’s hilt, as though he had done this thousands of times before. He began to bob his head back and forth in earnest, making Draco wonder if he was going to cum right there on the spot. </p>
<p>“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Draco muttered, staring down at Harry’s beautiful, freckled face, which was nestled right up against the blonde curls at the base of his cock. Harry brought his watery eyes up to Draco’s. He was so good, so eager to please, and Draco pulled his head back, slipping himself out of Harry’s mouth. </p>
<p>“Kiss me,” he commanded, and Harry quickly stood back up, bringing his pink lips to meet Draco’s. He tasted so sweet but also salty now, and Draco could taste his own precum on Harry’s mouth. The thought of his cum in Harry’s mouth alone might be enough to send him to the edge. He reached down to massage Harry’s cock underneath his boxer shorts, and was not surprised to find that it was much larger than average. Of course the chosen one would have a perfect cock, on top of everything else. The universe just seemed to have had its fun with this one. </p>
<p>They stumbled back into the study, this time Draco pushing Harry backwards through their kiss, and toppled upon the chaise lounge that they had been kissing on only earlier that morning. The gas lamps in the room cast a warm glow around them, and Draco was getting goosebumps all up and down his arms from the anticipation of what would happen next. </p>
<p>“Draco,” Harry said quietly, his body pressed underneath Draco’s as it had been at the park earlier. “Draco, I want you to fuck me.” </p>
<p>Draco felt his eyes widen in surprise, and saw the observation of his reaction evident upon Harry’s face. </p>
<p>“Are you sure?” He repeated, as he had earlier. “You’ve never…” </p>
<p>“No, never,” Harry responded, shaking his head slightly. “Well, I’ve practiced. You know, with a dildo, but I’m sure it’s not the same. I wanted… I wanted it to be like this.” </p>
<p>Draco didn’t know if he was more shocked to learn that Harry Potter was a bottom, or that he “practiced” getting off by fucking himself with a dildo. He was sure he could use that visual to wank to for years to come. </p>
<p>“That’s… the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco responded truthfully.</p>
<p>“So you’ll do it?” Harry asked, intertwining his fingers with Draco’s once more. Draco couldn’t remember feeling this intimate with someone in recent history, their naked bodies casually pressed against each other on the sofa, Harry’s thumb rubbing circles against the outside of Draco’s hand. </p>
<p>“Come here,” Draco muttered, pulling Harry’s mouth back against his. His heart was racing faster than it had been when they ran through the streets earlier. He traced the dark hair on Harry’s chest with his index finger, running his thumb across a pink, hardened nipple like he had so wanted to do back in June. </p>
<p>He brought his tongue back down to Harry’s neck, revelling in the taste of his skin, and pausing to lap at the hollow of his collar bone. </p>
<p>“I’ll fuck you all night if you want me to,” he whispered, and could feel Harry shiver underneath him. “I’ll fuck you until you scream,” he wrapped a fist again around Harry’s cock, beginning to pump it slowly. “I’ll fuck you until neither of us remember our names.” </p>
<p>Harry gasped, shuddering at the slow movement of Draco’s hand upon his cock. He muttered something entirely incoherent, clenching his eyes shut and bucking against the pressure, and Draco took that opportunity to slide a saliva soaked finger against Harry’s entrance. He looked so, bloody sexy all splayed out on the chaise lounge, his veiny cock throbbing inside Harry’s hand, his entire arse completely exposed to Draco. If Draco were to take a photograph of Harry like this, he never would have needed any other kind of pornography for as long as he lived. </p>
<p>Harry nearly shouted with pleasure as Draco began to rub his finger in circles, and Draco delighted when his own name was the next thing muttered out of Harry’s panting mouth. </p>
<p>“I need it,” Harry urged, begging Draco for more. “Draco please.” </p>
<p>Here he was, the muscular, heroic boy who lived, the man who had slain a basilisk and defeated the Dark Lord, right underneath Draco’s body and begging to be fucked. This was every fantasy Draco had dreamed of in his entire life, wrapped up into one encounter.</p>
<p>“Do you have…” He asked softly, not wanting to detract from the moment at hand. </p>
<p>“Yeah, under the sofa,” Harry responded, his breath coming in short intervals. Draco retrieved a jar of mint flavored, magical warming lube and sank two fingers into it, proceeding to bury both of them completely inside Harry. He was so tight and warm and exactly what Draco wanted, and he could barely resist reaching his fingers up to press gently on Harry’s prostate. </p>
<p>“Oh fuck, Draco - FUCK that’s so good.” Harry bucked up into Draco’s hand once more, his eyes locked upon Draco’s. He held his gaze as Draco’s hand moved in and out, warming him up and stretching him out for what was to come. Harry was practically whimpering, pleading with each movement. Harry was biting his lower lip in concentration, focusing on the intensity of Draco’s strokes, making Draco want to kiss him more than ever. </p>
<p>After a few moments of teasing, coaxing Harry’s hole until he was writhing on the couch in anticipation, Draco began to stroke his own cock, coating it in the tingling, warm lubricant that was left on his fingers. Harry watched him do it, a look of unparalleled, existential pleasure upon his face. Draco lowered his body back over Harry’s face so he could kiss him once more as he lined himself up with Harry’s entrance. </p>
<p>Harry grabbed for Draco’s free hand with his own, his green eyes wide and his lips parted slightly. </p>
<p>“Are you ready?” Draco whispered, holding Harry’s gaze with an unmatched intensity. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Harry whispered urgently, squeezing Draco’s hand. He brought his full lips back up to Draco’s as Draco pushed himself inside. </p>
<p>Draco started slow at first, just letting the sounds Harry made guide him to what he should be doing, pulling out and pushing back in and eliciting the most heavenly moans from Harry with each movement. After a few times he pushed himself almost fully into Harry and felt the other man’s body tense, then immediately withdrew, squeezing Harry’s hand. </p>
<p>“Was that too much? Are you ok?” </p>
<p>“No, don’t stop -- That’s fucking incredible…” Harry pulled Draco by his arse back into him, this time letting Draco slide completely inside. Now, Draco was the one practically shouting. </p>
<p>“God, you’re so tight,” he exclaimed, grasping Harry’s hand a bit harder so he could focus on not orgasming right away. He had never felt this close with anyone he had ever slept with before, and wanted it to last for as long as possible. </p>
<p>He picked up the pace after that, bringing his hips into Harry’s with a rhythm that nearly matched the heartbeat pounding in his chest. Harry was loosening up now, his hands now exploring Draco’s back and arse, his mouth still hovering just around Draco’s so he could bring his wet lips to Draco’s in between shallow gasps and breaths. </p>
<p>The sounds they were making were positively out of this world. Draco’s balls were smacking against Harry with each thrust, Harry’s moans and whines rising with each increase of speed.  Draco was enamored by the way Harry looked, the way he felt around Draco’s cock; everything about him was astounding. </p>
<p>Draco didn’t know how long they were like this -- his mind seemed to lose track of time entirely in between the kissing and the fucking -- but at some point Harry had wrapped his legs around Draco’s back and pulled himself up to ride on top. </p>
<p>It was the most erotic thing Draco had ever witnessed in his life, Harry’s bare chest was flushed red, his body wet with rain and sweat, his stiffened cock slapping against his stomach with each bounce. He was moaning again, riding Draco faster than Draco had even been fucking him, making Draco squeeze his eyes shut with pleasure. </p>
<p>“Fuck -- That’s.... Fuck…” Draco gasped between intervals, burying his fingers into Harry’s perfectly round arse and bouncing it on top of his cock. “That’s… God that’s gonna make me cum.” </p>
<p>He looked up at Harry’s flushed face, at the slightly nervous look of his upturned eyebrows, and could tell that Harry wasn’t far behind him. Draco wrapped one of his hands around Harry’s cock once more and began to jerk it towards him. Harry let out a string of swear words as he continued to ride Draco’s cock, moving faster and faster, matching the pace that Draco set stroking him. </p>
<p>“I’m gonna cum too,” Harry exclaimed, his voice shaking, his eyes looking more and more panicked by the second. </p>
<p>The tightness in his balls was almost more than Draco could handle. He kept his eyes fixed on Harry, every second growing closer and closer to the edge, until Harry was riding him faster than ever, he could barely hear anything besides the beat of his heart, and he was flooding Harry with everything that had been built up inside him for as long as he could remember. He felt the slickness of Harry’s own release upon his chest, watched him shudder as he reached his climax, and felt the immediate rush of euphoria hit him like a train. </p>
<p>It was the best he could remember feeling after sex. It was everything he had wanted, everything he had dreamed of for so long, and now it was Harry collapsing against his body, his messy hair nuzzling against Draco’s chest. </p>
<p>He was so, so happy. And so, goddamned tired. He didn’t care that they were covered in spunk and their wands were in the hallway with the rest of their clothes. He just wanted to hold Harry against his chest like that for the rest of his life, and maybe the next life as well. </p>
<p>He inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet, musky scent of Harry’s damp hair, and beginning to stroke his back as he breathed against Draco. He didn’t know if there were words to express how he felt right now. He didn’t think anything he could come up with would do the feeling justice.</p>
<p>So instead they both just lay there, their heartbeats finally slowing to their normal rates, their breathing becoming more and more relaxed as they drifted further away from consciousness. Draco thought he heard Harry mumble something against his chest as he was on the verge of sleep, but he couldn’t register anything except the feeling of happiness and warmth that had completely overtaken him. </p>
<p>He felt like, after a lifetime’s worth of wandering, he had finally come home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!! I am slowly migrating this story from ff.net, and adding more chapters as I edit. If you have any feedback, I would love to hear it! I'll go ahead and start posting my updated chapters as I finish them up. Reviews are my love language so if you have any thoughts or constructive criticism I would love to chat in the comments.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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